


Beautiful Little Fool

by Peverellis



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby, Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby Fusion, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gellert Grindelwald Being an Asshole, Great Gatsby AU, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Manipulative Gellert Grindelwald, Mutual Pining, Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Slow Burn, Tragedy, rich graves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-06 18:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11041998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peverellis/pseuds/Peverellis
Summary: For years, Percival Graves threw lavish parties in the hopes that Credence would come to one of them. But Credence lives across the bay in another world, tethered by his wealthy husband, Gellert Grindelwald.For years, Graves' efforts were fruitless. And then Newt Scamander moved to West Egg for the summer.(Great Gatsby AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, as it says in the summary, this is a FBAWTFT Great Gatsby AU, with Graves and Credence as Gatsby and Daisy respectively. But before you start reading: a couple of notes.  
> First, magic still exists in this universe. All the characters are still wizards (Credence was never an Obscurial). Furthermore, Grindelwald has been aged down to be closer to Graves' age, and Credence has been slightly aged up. Pretty much, all the characters are the same ages as their corresponding characters in Fitzgerald's original.  
> That said, I hope you enjoy!

Tina had seen the man in the car a thousand times. Well, not this particular man, of course, but Credence had touted enough Auror types around the house for her to know exactly the kind of person that sat behind the wheel. Everything, from the mystery man’s robes to his haircut, told Tina everything she possibly needed to know before she even got a good look at his face. She rolled her eyes and gave her broom a careless swing as she started to approach the car. Credence had a type, alright.  
  
The Auror, and he was so obviously an Auror, had his arm draped over Credence’s skinny shoulders. He was dressed entirely in uniform. From his white lapels, to his badge, to his wristwatch, the stranger was clothed to a tee. His dark hair was cut neatly, and he held himself like the professional he was. Yes, Tina had him all figured out. They were all the same.  
  
Credence, the prize that he was, blushed and giggled in the passenger seat, batting his eyelashes beneath his sharp bangs. He had the habit of hiding underneath his bowl cut when he was flirting, and he was definitely doing so now. Tina watched as Credence chewed on his bottom lip, never looking away from his mystery man.  
  
As Tina crested the the lawn, she finally caught a glimpse of the Auror’s face. He was handsome with strong features: regal jawline, thick eyebrows, full lips. This man was a good deal prettier than most of the others who came by the house, but that wasn’t what caught Tina’s attention.  
  
He looked at Credence the way everyone wanted to be looked at.  
  
His eyes were full and loving, fixed on Credence with that unplaceable quality that was only spoken of in childhood fantasies and fairy tales. Tina hadn’t known how much she’d wanted to see that quality until now.  
  
Just as the stranger started to lean in towards her friend, Tina turned her back. Her little investigation had gone too far. Something felt invasive. She had the unshakable feeling that she was intruding on a moment that she would likely never experience. Shaking her head, Tina made her way back into the house, and away from the car.  
  
It didn’t take Credence long to come blustering in, face flushed and grinning. Tina feigned ignorance, and glanced up with her best disinterested expression.  
  
“Who was he?” she asked. “William? Jay? John? Peter?” She could have kept going, but Credence only blushed more furiously. His mouth worked wordlessly until he was finally able to respond.  
  
“He’s not…he’s nobody.”  
  
Tina didn’t believe him for a second.

  
  


5 Years Later  
  
Gellert Grindelwald was the first thing Newt saw as he walked up the mansion’s winding driveway. He stood, proud, in front of his Georgian house, overlooking the property with a steely expression. The fresh summer breeze rippled through his scarlet robes and only made his figure look all the more imposing. He had a thin, hard, angular face, with pale eyes that shone from above his sharp cheekbones. Even as he caught Newt’s eye from the front porch, his mouth stayed in its usual curled line, only exaggerated by a white blonde mustache. The same light locks were slicked back in his oily hairstyle. Newt waved awkwardly, already intimidated by his host.  
  
“Scamander!” Gellert’s voice was loud, yet smooth. “How long has it been?”  
  
“Not since school!” Newt called back. He’d finally gotten to the front steps, his hand outstretched. Gellert shook his hand, but Newt was affronted by the way the wizard crushed his fingers in the grip.  
  
“Too long,” Gellert grinned. His smile sliced his face into a crescent moon. “This your first time in New York?”  
  
Newt nodded. “I’m working for the summer. Needed to get some supplies for my creatures.” At the mention them, Gellert rolled his eyes.  
  
“So those pets of yours are still around?” he asked. Newt had to bite his tongue to keep himself from correcting the man. They were creatures, not pets. But after chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment, Newt was able to control himself. All he could do was nod his head again. “Well, we’re glad you’re here, regardless,” Gellert conceded, a mischievous glint back in his light eyes. “Come in!”  
  
Servants lined either side of the entrance, and swung the massive white door open to reveal the monstrous reception hall inside. Every inch of the house was covered in decorative elements. From rich, velvet rugs, to marble sculptures, to the crystal chandelier, Newt was in absolute shock at the display. He’d never been in such a large, wealthy home in his life. He could barely breathe. Gellert on the other hand, put a cold hand on his back, forcing him away from the spectacle as if it were nothing to be impressed by.  
  
“Credence has been talking about nothing but you for the past week,” Gellert drawled, leading Newt down the ornate hallway. The walls were painted a deep crimson, “He’ll be thrilled to see you’re here.” Newt caught fleeting glimpses of school awards hanging on the hallway’s walls as they rushed toward’s Gellert’s unknown destination.  
  
The dark passageway eventually arrived at a large black door. Gellert paused at it for a second and a sly smile slid across his cheeks. He tapped on the front of it three times, still maintaining that same playful quality as he finally opened the door.  
  
Newt was almost blinded by the sudden barrage of light that streamed in from the room. All of the decorations in the new location were some variation of white: alabaster, cream, ivory. Random outbursts of wind filtered inside, tossing the long, light curtains from side to side, which concealed the majority of the room’s contents. But as Gellert began to close the large windows that covered every wall, the living room’s scene was ultimately revealed.  
  
Credence and a woman were lounged on the long white velvet couch with their backs to Newt and Gellert. Their heads were together, their voices low and empty. Credence threw his head back. His laugh glittered around the room, but the woman beside him appeared too bored to join in.  
  
“Credence,” Newt called out tentatively.  
  
There was no doubt that Credence had never looked more stunning. Every inch of him was dripping in jewels, from the crystals that embellished his pure white robes, to his diamond encrusted headband. But despite the gaudy clothing, his natural beauty had stayed intact, enhanced even. The child-like bowl cut that Newt remembered from the last time he’d seen him had grown out. In its stead were glossy, black, curls that reached his shoulders, part of it pulled into a high bun. That same dark hair trailed onto his face, the slightest shadow of a beard gracing his jaw and chin. Gellert clearly had him all dolled up. He paraded his husband around like a show pony, dressing him like a prize rather than a person. Newt could tell that Credence’s alabaster skin was powdered and sparkling, his lips stained a deep crimson. But those red lips curled into an oddly genuine smile as he caught his gaze.  
  
“Newt!” His voice was just as glittering as the gems on his clothes, but there was a certain sadness behind his deep brown eyes. Newt plastered himself with his own nervous, artificial smile, as he gave Credence an uncomfortable embrace. “It’s been too long,” Credence said.  
  
“It has.” Newt shifted awkwardly, entirely out of his element. The stony host, the ostentatious house, the artificial environment, all added to a nightmare situation that he couldn’t escape. He could feel color rushing to his cheeks. His heartbeat was pounding in his head. Time felt like it was slowing down, his field of vision shrinking in the face of complete social incompetency.  
“I thought you said this man was fun, Credence,” the girl on the couch sighed. Newt had barely given her a second look next to her friend’s flashy appearance, but her cynical tone definitely caught his attention. She raised one of her dark eyebrows at Newt, glancing at him from behind her bobbed brown hair.  
  
“I-” he stuttered.  
  
“Newt,” Credence tittered, throwing a gesture in the woman’s general direction,“meet Miss Porpentina Goldstein.”  
  
“Tina,” the woman corrected, before Newt could get in a word. “The only time anyone calls me Porpentina is when I’m being introduced…or when my mother and I are having a row.” Tina uncrossed her legs, turning to face Newt with that same unimpressed expression. It was as if she were daring him to respond, to lash out. It was a dare Newt knew that he’d never fulfill. A tense silence started to flood the room, on its way to drowning them all. Unexpectedly, Credence squirmed the most. He was caving in on himself in the face of tension, as if it was physically unbearable.  
  
Credence fell back on the couch, picking a stray strand off the edge of his robes. “And how is life on the farm, Newt?” he asked. Despite Credence’s bubbly surface, his words and voice seemed desperate. But Newt indulged him anyway.  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“Is it?”  
  
“Oh ye-”  
  
“Enough!” Grindelwald’s voice made everyone in the room flinch, Credence worst of all. His entire body shuddered as the remaining color drained from his face. His eyes widened with an emotion that couldn’t be taken as anything but fear. Gellert, on the other hand, stood imposingly in the doorway, surveying his husband with a vicious look in his pale eyes. “Why don’t we get drinks?” he offered, though his request felt more aggressive than hospitable.  
  
“Of course,” Credence rose shakily to his feet, his voice far away. Gellert didn’t seem to notice his husband’s obvious distress. Instead, he took Credence by the wrist, haphazardly pulling him into the dining room. Newt looked to Tina for some kind of guidance. The woman’s eyes sharpened and followed the couple out of the parlor.  
  
“And this is a good day for them,” she grimaced. Even though Tina sounded sarcastic, Newt couldn’t help but noticed her downcast, pained expression following the harsh words. She recovered almost too quickly: stood up, swept her bangs to the side, and flounced through the drapery towards dinner. As per usual, Newt was left in the wake of their crises.  
Clearly, he couldn’t help but follow as well.  
  
The dining room was even more decadent than the other rooms Newt had seen thus far. Each chair was dressed in gold molding and rich velvet fabrics. Each plate, glass, fork, spoon, was engraved with thorns and roses. Everything was sparkling from the light that dripped from yet another chandelier. The walls were a pale mint color, but all the other decorations and furniture were glazed in gold. Standing among the ridiculous setting and ornate people, Newt was starting to feel small again.  
  
“Whiskey, Newt?” Gellert asked, shoving the drink in his general direction with no regard for his response. As he clutched the whiskey between his palms, Newt was under the impression that the crystal glass was worth more than any of his possessions back home.  
  
Still trapped in his dreamlike state, Newt managed to find a seat. Gellert stood by the window for a moment, glaring at the view of the bay and grinding his teeth. His face was like a knife: thin, curved, and unnerving. Gellert barely moved as he took a long swig of whiskey. Credence and Tina chatted idly, clearly ignoring the wizard by the curtains. But Newt couldn’t take his eyes off of the man casually gripping his wand in the moonlight.  
  
“You know I’ve been reading this new book.” Gellert broke the silence, his voice hard as he tried to sound personable. Next to him, Credence sighed. Red rose to his cheeks and he looked absolutely mortified. Newt turned his investigative gaze towards the young man, wondering what his husband could possibly say about a book that would make him so embarrassed.  
It didn’t take long for Gellert to make Credence’s shame warranted.  
  
“It theorizes that the no-majs natural place, is below that of our kind, that they are born naturally inferior, and it is our right…our responsibility, to put them in their place,” Gellert ranted, erratically gesturing with his drink. Newt’s entire body felt like it was seizing up. He was so uncomfortable, he could barely move, barely breathe.  
  
“Gellert has been reading awfully complicated books lately,” Credence commented in a high, false voice.  
  
“It’s not complicated,” Gellert corrected, looking down his nose at his husband. “It’s natural law.” He appealed to Tina and Newt with a smug expression. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Credence.” Tina’s right eyebrow quirked upwards. Newt could tell that it took every ounce of self control for her to remain silent.  
  
“Well,” Credence kept talking in that odd high voice, “I’ve never been one for all that bookish stuff.” Gellert laughed. It was a cruel, vicious laugh that echoed around the ornate, empty room. He walked slowly, each step implying pure dominance, until he finally stopped behind his husbands back.  
  
“I know.” Gellert caressed Credence’s neck, and in that split second his hair was pulled off his throat, Newt caught a glimpse of four deep purple bruises trailing from Credence’s collarbone to his jaw. These were no love marks. With Gellert’s fingers so close, Newt could practically see him digging them into Credence’s flesh until their image was branded into his skin. Before he could do anything more, the dark curls fell back onto Credence’s shoulders, everyone behaving as if they had seen nothing wrong. Tina winced but stayed quiet, staring at her folded hands. “That’s why I-”  
  
The phone rang. Newt exhaled for the first time in what felt like years. The incessant ringing brought air back to the room. Gellert froze where he stood, his hand still on Credence’s exposed throat. His light eyes gleamed with anticipation, as if waiting for the phone to stop its noise. Tina’s lip curled.  
  
“Mister Grindelwald.” A butler entered the dining room with his head down. “The garage is calling.” Gellert looked from Newt, to Tina, and finally down at the young man before him. “Mister Grindelwald,” the butler repeated.  
  
“I’m coming,” Gellert growled. He released Credence, and stalked off into the next room.  
  
“The garage…” Tina whispered in a mocking tone the moment he was out of earshot.  
  
“Teenie!” Credence spat back, pained.  
  
Tina deflected him with surprising speed. “So, Newt,” she hurried, “you live over in West Egg?” Credence sat back in his seat. Despite his pensive face, there was intensity smoldering behind his skin.  
  
“Just for the summer,” Newt responded, surprised that any attention had been paid to him at all. The entire evening he’d felt like a fly on the wall, trapped in the unknown environment with no hope of escape. Tina’s eyes darted from Newt to Credence.  
  
“Well, at least you have something interesting going on,” she teased. “Been to the parties over there?”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“The parties over at West Egg,” she repeated. “If you’re living over there, you must know Graves.” Her matter-of-fact phrasing never failed to make Newt feel isolated and inferior.  
  
“Graves?” Credence had been looking far away, but at the mention of the name, he came alive again. “What Graves?” There was a bizarre mixture of confusion, fear, and hope all conflicting on his features. Tina opened her mouth to reply, but before a single vowel of explanation could pass her lips, a tremendous shout burst through the closed door.  
  
“You listen to me!” Gellert shouted into the phone. Credence flinched. His eyes were blank, focused on nothing. Newt didn’t know what he could possibly say. Despite being acquainted with Credence back West, he admitted that he really didn’t know anything about who the young man was, or how his mind worked. Just as Newt began to try and strike up a distracting conversation, Credence abruptly stood, shoving his drink away.  
  
“Excuse me,” he managed, before fleeing the dining room and all its treasures. Tina groaned. While Newt stared off in the direction where the young man had run, Tina glared at the pale man in the next room.  
  
“You’d think they’d have the decency not to call at this hour,” she practically growled.  
  
“They?”  
  
“You went to school with Gellert, didn’t you?” Tina scoffed. “You should know better than anyone that he’s never been one to play by the rules, and he doesn't associate with the best people either.” Newt felt heat rise in his ears. Of course, he knew that Gellert was far from being the best person. Of course, he knew about the experiments. Of course, part of that volatile nature had been what drew Newt to him in the first place. There was still some hidden corner of Newt that was attracted to the cloud of dramatic and dangerous antics that always seemed to hover around Gellert and Credence’s life. Tina’s expression scoured his guilt, forcing his shame back to the surface.  
  
“I should g-go check on Credence,” he avoided, decisively standing up. Newt ducked his head as he left the room, some meager attempt to escape Tina Goldstein’s biting tongue. By the time he was given sanctuary in the cool, evening air, Newt was sure that he’d turned about as red as a tomato.  
  
Though the day had brought the first kiss of summer heat with it, the twilight blessed Newt with a breeze and rapidly darkening sky. His instincts were beginning to kick in, and they were telling him to run; just run and never come back to East Egg ever again. He’d barely been there an hour, but was already in over his head. Now that he was free on the property’s expansive lawn, there was nothing holding him back from a quick getaway.  
  
Then, he spotted Credence standing alone on the edge of the patio.  
  
The dying light still dazzled every gem that lined his clothes, but the original allure of Credence’s appearance had set with the sun. As he approached, Newt was able to see through the facade for the first time since arriving in New York. He sidled up next to the young man, immediately feeling his utter lack of energy. Credence stared off the property, and into the bay. At first, Newt thought he hadn’t even noticed his arrival. But Credence started speaking, in a low, husky voice that was meant for no one else to hear.  
  
“My sister Modesty is getting married in November…a man my mother found for her from upstate New York.” Newt hesitated to congratulate him, sensing that there was more to such a story. Credence continued, “I went shopping with her to find a wedding dress last month. We were in the middle of talking about fabrics…and I suddenly realized that she had nothing intelligent or interesting to say.” Oddly, a nervous smile broke across his face. “My sister…She’s ended up just like the rest of us…a fool. And I was just so damn proud. That’s the best thing a person like me can be in this world: a beautiful little fool.”  
  
“Credence.” His name was all Newt could manage to say.  
  
“You must think I’m real stupid,” Credence whimpered. He was trying to keep his composure, but Newt saw his lip trembling. Tears streamed silently down his cheeks, and left watery trails on his powdered face. The pair stayed silent for a long time. Credence cried. Newt breathed. They held hands as the green light at the end of the dock flashed. Its rhythm felt like a heartbeat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all the amazing support on the last chapter! It was so motivating and sweet. I really appreciate any and all feedback.  
> Just keep in mind once again that all the characters are pretty much the same age as their corresponding characters in the Great Gatsby (so Ariana is NOT 14)  
> Other than that, I really hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Newt had never wanted to go to lunch with Gellert. Since that last night, he’d managed to settle into his little West Egg cottage, and was much happier spending his afternoon in the company of his creatures. In fact, he was intently focused on avoiding any further contact with the Grindelwald house. But when Tina heard about Gellert’s invitation, she’d grabbed Newt by the collar and pulled him off of his seat. He often forgot how strong she was. Years of Quidditch practice and broom exercises had covered her palms with calluses and turned her arms to steel.  
“You’re going,” she demanded, her face mere inches from his. 

“Uh…” he muttered, utterly thrown off by her sudden display. “Why?”

“Because everyone knows that Gellert has a hustle, or a hussie, or both, in New York City,” Tina accused. “And if you go there, you can tell me all about it.” Newt squirmed at the thought of such activities. Either option would trap him in a situation even more unbearable than their past meeting.

“I’m not sure that I can,” he mumbled. He had to forcibly look away from Tina’s accusatory eyes, for fear that he would fold under the pressure of her gaze.

“I need to know,” Tina said. Her eyes finally managed to lock onto his, and he was left breathless. 

“Why?” Newt repeated dumbly. Tina sighed.

“I gotta know,” she said. He stayed silent. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I…” 

“It’s for Credence,” Tina confessed, pulling Newt closer. He sucked on his bottom lip, deep in thought and still conflicted. “You saw him, Newt. You could do something.” Newt painfully remembered the tragedy of that night. Credence was silently crying. And Tina was sitting, useless, at the dining room table. And Gellert was shouting into the phone. And Newt was doing nothing. He was always doing nothing. 

“I’ll go,” he conceded. A playful smile crept onto Tina’s lips. 

“I knew you could have some fun.” She released Newt’s shirt, and retook her seat on his front porch. He straightened his collar, staring at her all the while. Boy, was he in trouble. 

 

The day was warm, too warm for any real comfort on the train into the city. Gellert sat across from Newt, positively pink in the summer sun that streamed in through the window. He was wearing a navy blue suit, his white shirt already slightly spotted with sweat. For the first time since Newt had seen him, Gellert was on edge, nervous. It was contagious. Newt found it difficult to sit still, and tried to occupy himself by watching the landscape rush by.

The train was slowing as the world outside the window lost all its color. Newt saw the faces of dirtied workers, shoveling great heaps of filth into even larger piles of ashes. It was a substantial piece of land that connected the Eggs to New York City. Long forgotten and cast aside by the high-flying socialites and day-to-day businessmen, the entire strip was covered in industrial work zones which caused every surface to be covered in a thick layer of dust. Newt turned his eyes to his lap and waited for the sorry sight of the place to fly by.

Instead, the train came to a halt, and Newt suddenly found Gellert shaking him by the shoulder. “We’re getting off here,” he instructed. Newt, confused, blindly followed him as they rushed to the exit.

“Why? I thought we were-” Gellert jumped from the train to the ashen ground below. As per usual, Newt had no choice but to do the same.

“I want you to meet someone,” Gellert said, almost to himself. 

Newt squinted in the light. Only a minute in the valley of ashes, and he was already coated in grime. Gellert didn’t appear to be fazed, casually putting his hands in his pockets and starting off to the small cluster of buildings across the dirt road. But before Newt could get a good look at the gas station and brick houses, he found himself utterly frozen to the ground in the face of a gigantic pair of eyes.

It was a billboard, ironically the only part of the valley that looked alive. The gigantic brown eyes surveyed the scene with cold, unfeeling judgement. Their unmoving, harsh pupils could only be that of a No-Maj advertisement, but it still managed to intimidate Newt. His insides felt oddly cold.

“I see you’ve met Mr. Shaw,” Gellert said sarcastically. Newt jolted at his sudden voice.

“Who?”

“The man on the billboard,” explained Gellert. “Henry James Shaw. He’s some No-Maj politician. They put up the poster about a year ago, and haven’t taken it down since.” Newt pursed his lips. Whoever the man was, he was absolutely unnerving. Newt felt those eyes stare through him and he had the creeping feeling that they could see beyond his flesh and bone. Newt had never been the most superstitious person, but something about the poster was truly getting underneath his skin. “Come on,” Gellert urged. “We’ll just be over at the station.”

Why they were going to a gas station, of all places, Newt had no idea. Tina’s warning about suspicious activities echoed in his ears as they approached the yellow brick building. The men trudged through the ashes regardless, towards the sad little structures and, as it turns out, a sad little man. 

The only person at the station itself was a man curled halfway under the hood of a rusted automobile. “Dumbledore!” Gellert shouted as they approached. The man ducked his head out of the car, looking frantic and perturbed. 

“Mister Grindelwald,” he spluttered, wiping his oily hands on the front of his filthy apron. “What brings you here?” The man couldn’t have been older than Gellert, but he certainly looked like he was. He had gray, mane-like hair and rough stubble, all of which looked like it hadn’t been properly washed in months. His face was wan and weary. 

“I’d like you to meet a friend of mine who just got into town,” Gellert said, his dominance steamrolling the poor mechanic. “Newt Scamander, this is Aberforth Dumbledore.”

“Mister Dumbledore,” Newt nodded, shaking his hand. Based on Gellert’s reaction he knew he’d made a mistake. The automobile oil was smeared all over Newt’s palm, as Aberforth apologized, trying to wipe off the mess with an even dirtier rag. 

“I’m so sorry sir,” Aberforth said through gritted teeth. Something about the way the man’s blue eyes burned gave Newt the impression that he didn’t like Gellert very much. “I’ll…I’ll go get a better rag.”

The moment that the mechanic was out of earshot, Gellert laughed coldly, and muttered cruelly under his breath, “You do that, invalid.” Newt turned on Gellert, shocked by his sudden and blatant aggression. “Oh come now,” Gellert whispered angrily. “When is the last time you saw a wizard who didn’t use magic and ran a No-Maj garage?” Newt’s chest was tightening again, and there was no Credence, no phone call to distract from the ugliness of Gellert’s opinions.

As if on cue, a creak sounded from the corner, where a staircase spiraled into the ceiling. Someone had been silently creeping down the stairs, until their tiny slippered foot fell on a loose step. Newt whirled around. He was almost excited to see someone else he could pin the awkwardness onto. 

With both Gellert and Newt’s eyes on her, the woman looked ready to fly away. Peeking out from behind the railing, her sweet face was filled with apprehension. She was short and slender, wispy enough to be blown over in a strong wind. Her mousy blonde hair fell in a wavy sheet down to her waist, and Newt was under the impression that the hair itself was responsible for half of her total weight. The rest of her body was swallowed by a cheap lavender dressed that fell just past her knees. 

Yet, it was her eyes that made Newt uneasy. They were a piercing, electric blue, and while the rest of her was remarkably un-extraordinary, those irises seared his very soul. A madness, a bug-eyed ferocity rested behind her pupils. They were almost akin to Shaw’s on the billboard outside.

Gellert didn’t seemed to share his impression of the woman. Whereas Newt saw her as rather plain and mad-looking, Gellert looked at her eccentric, heart-shaped face as if were fulfilling every one of his hidden desires. There was something predatory in Gellert’s posture as he put out his hand for her to shake.

“Always a pleasure, Ariana,” he said, tongue sharp with every word. Newt felt suddenly and completely violated, even though the voice wasn’t directed at him. Despite that, Ariana smiled sweetly and took Gellert’s hand for a brief second. Her face demonstrated a hunger that Newt hadn’t though such an innocent-looking girl was capable of. Gellert somehow managed to restrain himself, instead turning back to him. “This is a friend of mine, Newt Scamander,” he continued. “Newt, this is Ariana Dumbledore.”

Newt had no choice but take her skeletal fingers in his, shaking her hand. “You’re Mr. Dumbledore’s wife?” he asked. Ariana smiled sheepishly, but Gellert let out another empty cackle. He clapped Newt hard on the back, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

“Aberforth? Are you kidding?” Gellert continued to wheeze.

Ariana squeezed Newt’s hand comfortingly. “Aberforth’s my older brother,” she clarified, in a voice like twinkling bells. “He’s very protective.” Still in the corner, Aberforth appeared unaffected by the mention of his name. He was leaned over on the other side of the room, viciously scrubbing his hands in the already grimy sink. 

“Speaking of which,” Gellert’s voice was suddenly hushed and urgent, “find a way to get on the next train, and meet me at the apartment.” Ariana looked nervously back at her brother. Possessive once more, Gellert grabbed her by the chin, and guided her face back to his. “Tell him that you’re going to visit Albus.” He spoke in a condescending voice, as if chastising a child. “He won’t care what you’re doing if Albus is involved.” Mistress. The word flashed in Newt’s mind before he could fully comprehend what was unfolding before him. It was then that he started to notice the little quirks in Ariana’s behavior: the way she bat her eyelashes, the way she leaned in towards Gellert whenever he spoke, the almost manic energy that was threatening to explode. At the mention of the apartment, Ariana practically glowed. Even with Gellert’s obvious hostility, it was clear that she was totally and completely infatuated with him.

“Will do,” she complied, flashing a shy little smile. As she turned away, Gellert took Newt by the shoulder and pulled back into the dirty street. 

“What a bird, eh?” Gellert buzzed. He was almost childlike in his behavior while they made their way back to the train station. Every couple of seconds, he would glance back at the house. His starved eyes gleamed, almost to the point of perceived insanity.

Newt was doomed.

 

Two hours later, he found himself curled into the corner of an apartment’s love-seat accompanied only by a miniature owl that hopped around in its tiny gold cage, blissfully ignorant of the situation unfolding around it. Ariana had begged Gellert to buy it from a suspicious wizard on a street corner, but had quickly dumped it in the living room the moment they’d arrived at the apartment. The moment the girl was out of her brother’s home, the mania Newt had seen in her ignited. Ariana was overflowing with lethal energy. Every reaction was extreme. She sought out every thrill, every risk. Her eyes were glowing with the freedom that Aberforth had denied her, and that made her all the more threatening to Newt. 

She and Gellert had locked themselves in the bedroom next door. Newt had tried to distract himself at first. He’d played with the owl. He’d paced from wall to wall, all to ignore the bizarre noises and lights coming out of bedroom. At a certain point, he could feel it wearing on his very last nerve.

“What do I do, Warren?” Newt asked the little owl—he’d named the owl Warren while waiting for some kind of reprieve—while the creature stared back it him with a quizzical expression. It almost seemed to be pleading with him. “I’m going to go,” he murmured. He nodded at the owl, and the owl almost seemed to nod back. “I’m going, Warren.” Newt considered the creature for another moment. He could use another owl back home. “And I’m taking you with me.” A particularly loud crash sounded in the bedroom, which Newt saw as his final cur to leave.

Clutching Warren and his cage in his arms, Newt made a final dash towards the door. The owl gave a disgruntled hoot when they reached the exit. “Come now, Warren. You’ll be happier once we’re out of here,” Newt reassured. But the moment his fingers touched the knob, the door flew open, almost hitting him in the face. Warren screeched.

“Woah, there!” a stranger said. 

“Who’s this, Albus?”

“Are you sure this is the right apartment?”

Newt backed up slowly, now feeling pressure from two different sides of the room. He was reaching that tipping point again, where his body felt like it was shutting down in the face of sensory overload.

“You’re the one with Gellert?” the first man asked. Newt nodded hurriedly, but the man smiled warmly and put a hand on his shoulder. Everything about him, from his kind face to messy auburn hair, calmed Newt’s nerves. There was something about him that was strangely familiar.

“I’m N-Newt Scam-man-nder,” he stuttered and stuck out his palm. The stranger flashed pearly white teeth, firmly shaking his hand. 

“Albus Dumbledore,” he announced. Newt’s eyes widened with recognition. 

“Your sister is in-”

Albus waved him away. “Oh, don’t worry. I know,” he spoke about the affair in a bizarrely casual manner. “We all know.” He gestured to his other two companions. “This Elphias Doge,” he pointed to the scrawny, dark-haired man to his left, “and Bathilda Bagshot,” he waved a hand towards the short, blonde woman beside him. “We’re friends of Gellert…and Ariana as well.” There was something peculiar about the way Albus mentioned his sister as an afterthought. 

“Why don’t we all sit down?” Elphias said. Next to Albus and Bathilda’s excitement, Ephias was almost exhausted. He slumped into an armchair, and looked generally annoyed at their entire circumstances. He surveyed the others with an expression of absolute disdain across his features. On the contrary, Albus was full of life, taking in the room with curious little glances.

“So how are Ariana and Gellert doing, anyway?” Albus asked. That same affectionate glow filled his body when he spoke, but Newt was unable to appreciate it. 

His flesh froze at the prospect of answering the question. “They’re…well…they’re…” Newt trailed off.

“They’re what?” Elphias grumbled. “They’e what? Spit it out!” Newt artlessly jerked his head towards the bedroom door. Everyone went completely silent for a second. Then Bathilda started wailing with amusement.

“You think they’re together? Sexually?” Peels of her mocking laughter brought the color back to Newts cheeks. Albus and Elphias began to chuckle as well. “Gellert Grindelwald has never been physically attracted to a woman in his life!” Bathilda screeched. 

“Then what-” Newt struggled.

“Could you imagine?” she continued to howl. Bathilda was doubled over in her seat, now pounding her fist against the armrests. “Gellert Grindelwald hauling ashes with Ariana Dumbledore!” Albus ignored the hyperventilating woman, and laid a hand on Newt’s knee.

“It’s not like that, not really,” Albus explained vaguely. When Newt shook his head, confused, Albus leaned in to explain further. Bathilda and Elphias continued to cackle in the background. “You have to understand that my sister is first and foremost an extremely powerful witch,” Albus whispered. “And if you know anything about Gellert, it’s his obsession with magical ability, and I think Ariana’s lack of control over her magic makes that obsession all the more intense.” 

Newt’s eyebrows drew together. “Then what are they doing…in there?” His face was now scorching with color, the shame nearly impossible to handle. 

Albus shrugged. “It’s not my business, of course,” he said, “but I seriously doubt that its an affair the way we think of it. Gellert wouldn’t be attracted to Ariana under any other circumstances, and their…relationship…is a new beast altogether.” Albus got an odd, pensive look on his face for a moment. “I wouldn’t dwell on it, Newt. We’re all just having fun.” With that, Albus decidedly stood up and walked over to the phonograph on the other side of the room.

As jazz music started to fill the air, Newt turned back to the caged bird. We should have gotten out of here when we had the chance, Warren, he lamented. Bathilda and Elphias had started to dance on the rich carpet. Albus leaned on a wall, watching them fumble some variation of a Charleston. He ran his hand through his hair in an amused manner, the messy auburn strands falling into his face one by one. In spite of the distressing scene, Newt was inexplicably drawn to his reckless warmth. 

It didn’t take long for the alcohol to start flowing. Newt had taken the first glass to be polite, but quickly discovered that the liquid in it was constantly replenished whenever he looked away. Clearly, Elphias was more than generous with a bottle. The apartment started to tilt out of control. It wasn’t long before Newt found himself laughing louder than all the others, dizzy yet overjoyed to be participating. He stumbled over his own feet as Albus led the group in a mad group dance. Newt’s heartbeat pounded to the rhythm of the jazz that swirled from the phonograph. At some point, one of the expensive couch pillows was burst and feathers sprayed everywhere. Newt was disoriented in the spur of the moment.

All bets were off. All inhibitions were lost. Newt still couldn’t remember half of the filthy and vile things that happened that evening. He could only recall chaos…chaos and false pleasures.

It was past sundown when Newt’s mind finally cleared, if just for a brief time. Albus was draped over the couch, missing both his shoes and shirt, with his pants ripped from his ankle to his upper thigh. Newt was slumped on the footrest. He’d misplaced everything on his person other than his undergarments in some unfortunate interaction that had slipped his mind. Naturally, he cradled Warren and the cage between his legs. He and Albus were madly giggling about the punchline to a joke that Newt had already forgotten. 

“You’re not Aberforth!” Ariana’s bright voice slurred the slightest bit, though it was still thick with youth and naivety. “I can say whatever I want here!” The door to the bedroom burst open, and Ariana came prancing out. Her hair was tousled, almost to the point of being matted, as her bright eyes sparked around the room. Gellert was quick to follow, though his immediate attitude appeared much less jovial. His aggressive demeanor was back. Though he staggered, he looked at Ariana like she was prey. “I can say whatever I want!” Ariana repeated. 

Newt sat up in his chair, but Albus held him back. “Let them be. They’re just playing.” But it didn’t seem like playing, as Gellert grabbed Ariana hard by the wrist. She cried out, but continued ranting.

“Whatever I want, see?” she shouted at the others. “Credence! Credence!” Now Albus was the one who was tense, holding his breath as his sister kept screaming the name over and over. Newt felt every nerve in his body pulsing with trepidation.

“Stop it,” Gellert snarled. He yanked her wrist with so much force that Ariana nearly fell over. Once again, she yelped in pain, but refused to stop yelling.

“Credence! Credence! Credence!” Ariana howled.

It all happened too quickly for anyone to properly react. 

Gellert released Ariana’s arm, and came back swinging with his other hand. His fist crunched as it made contact with her face, and before anyone could even blink, there was blood everywhere. It ran in thick, crimson streams down her pale face, dripping onto her dress. Everyone held their breath while time stood still. Ariana’s gaze slowly travelled from Gellert’s dazed face down to the deep red stain that spread across the lavender fabric. The sight didn’t seem to register in her mind until she started shaking.

Ariana’s entire body vibrated. Her eyes went as wide as quarters. The electricity was back in her blue pupils. It was as if her skin was glowing with a pure, dangerous, kind of energy. Sparks began to fly from the tips of her fingers. 

“Ari,” Gellert said. False comfort was in his voice. He dared not touch her. “Wait-”

Ariana’s magic was at boiling point and even his words could not reach her. She took a trembling hand to her broken nose, expression completely blank when her fingers came back slippery and scarlet. White hot and violent, her hands suddenly and involuntarily jerked towards Gellert.

“Stupefy!” A streak of bright red light shot from the end of Albus’ wand and hit Ariana square in the chest. Newt gasped in air as she crumpled to the ground. He felt as though a ticking bomb had been diffused. They’d managed to get to the cusp of disaster, only to be rescued by a shirtless wizard and a stunning spell.

“Let’s get her on the couch,” Gellert said numbly. Albus nodded. Any and all good nature was drained from his smile as he complied. There was something unspoken between the two of them, and Newt just stood by and watched. 

Even after they’d performed healing spells on her injuries, Ariana couldn’t stop bawling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for continuing to read this little of story of mine! All of the positive commentary is so encouraging, and I really appreciate any and all feedback. My one and only little note for this chapter is that Queenie is not a Legilimens in this universe. With that said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Newt’s head throbbed for the next three days, and it wasn’t just because of the hangover. Even after the effects of the alcohol had worn off, his body didn’t quite recover. His mind was slow and stupid. His joints, down to his knuckles, ached. His creatures were starting to get upset with him, as his level of pampering care had severely decreased since settling in New York. Instead of working, he found himself lying around the house. It felt like there was a great weight on his chest, and even playing with the bowtruckles couldn’t lift his spirits. 

Then, the invitation arrived, three days after his return from the apartment.

 

Dear Mr. Scamander,  
The honor would be entirely mine if you could attend my little party.  
Yours sincerely,  
P. Graves

 

Newt blinked, considering the letter twice more to make sure that he hadn’t misread anything. P. Graves. The name rung in his ears with a grandeur that he couldn’t comprehend. Percival Graves was too far removed from Newt’s life in the little cottage. It was the kind of name that was said with the utmost respect and jealousy, only mentioned around the tables of wealthy couples who didn’t know whether to admire or despise him. Continuing to consider the letter, Newt walked out onto his porch and took a gander at the enormous estate next door. 

It was clear why people were talking, why people were hating, why people were obsessed. Mr. Graves’ house towered over Newt’s in all its glory. It almost looked like a castle. The mansion was built entirely of expensive looking cobalt and gray stone. Huge windows and gabled roofs left an impression on any onlooker who was blessed enough to simply drive by. Often times, Newt found himself just staring at it. All the buildings in New York paled in comparison to its presence. Its immense garden made it look like the house was built out of some fantasy world, where roses and daises swirled around every structure and everything was green and lively. Graves’ home existed on another spectrum of reality.

“The honor would be entirely mine if you could attend my little party,” Newt mumbled aloud, still enthralled with the invitation. The party’s description was a blatant lie. Graves’ parties, from what Newt had seen and heard of them since moving next door, were the exact opposite of little. 

But the moment he’d opened the letter, Newt had already decided to attend. 

 

The night was brimming with recklessness. Graves’ house was lit up like a lantern. All the lights were on, windows open and blasting quick-paced jazz music at any possible attendee. And there were plenty of those to go around.

The people came in droves. From the very first automobile that came screaming around the driveway at nine, to the borderline stampede that rushed through the front gates at eleven, there would be no shortage of guests anytime soon. They were so colorful, vibrant even in the dim New York night. The women were all living in the very latest fashion trends. They had bobbed hair, red lips, powdered faces, shorter skirts, feathers and sequins galore. Obviously, none of them dressed on a budget. The men were slick, cool. They lazily smoked cigarettes while leading ladies by the momentous fountain and wore suits that probably cost more than Newt’s rent. 

Newt couldn’t help but feel underdressed, in his tweed jacket that he was too old to grow into, and worn brown shoes that the cobbler had given up on restoring. He gripped his invitation in his left hand and held it tightly. It was the only thing firmly declaring that he belonged there. 

He barely made it to the front door. Pair after pair of giggling lovers pushed their way past him in a rush to see the wonders inside. Newt had the nagging feeling that many of them were already drunk by the time they arrived. Once more, he was trapped in his own crystal clear space, watching the rest of the world blur by on their own frequency. He felt like the only sane person in a party gone mad. 

Stepping over the threshold was a shoving match. Newt held his invitation in front of him like a shield, trying to draw the attention of one of the various butlers as some kind of confirmation that he was in the right place. But no one paid him so much as a second glance and the pressure of the crowd eventually managed to sweep him into the entrance hall.

Newt had never felt such sensory overload in his life. The colors only intensified. Chandeliers cast spotlights of reds, yellows, and blues over the glittering guests, and Newt’s eyes started to water. The crowd had arrived in a massive ballroom where the other party-goers had already begun to celebrate and dance. The air was thick with sweat and perfume. The horns, pianos, and drums pounded in his ears. It was positively dizzying.

And there was Tina, grounding him to the moment.

She dissolved from the crowd and snuck up behind him. “I like large parties, don’t you?” she said.

Newt jolted. “Tina!” Twirling her way in front of him, Tina Goldstein was more dazzling than ever. She wore a silver, beaded dress that kept to the newest fashion trends, short and swishing with each tiny movement. When it came down to it, Tina was dressed like every other woman at the party. There was just some unplaceable element that made her rise above the rest…in Newt’s eyes at least. 

“Large parties are so intimate,” she continued, raising one dark eyebrow and giving him her hand. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.” Newt understood and agreed with each word. While the relatively tiny party at Gellert’s apartment had left him feeling naked, exposed, and violated, he found himself feeling strangely symbiotic in his present situation. Flappers and businessmen rushed past him, each living their own experience in their own little world. Standing there with Tina, he couldn’t help feeling that they were the only people in the room. As she said, it was unexpectedly intimate. 

“I’ll drink to that.” It was his best attempt at levity. Tina smiled in spite of his awkwardness. 

“I think we could all use giggle water right about now,” she admitted. Her eyes scanned the ballroom in search for a waiter and a plater of champagne. “There’s plenty to go around here. I’m sure we’ll get our hands on some eventually.” With that, Tina latched onto his arm with stars in her eyes. “But we can still have some fun without it!” Before Newt could fully comprehend what was happening, she was dragging him across the room and into the blue garden outside. The rush of brisk air cooled his head, even while the intensity of the event built to a new crescendo. 

In between rows of pink roses, aside from the wild dancers and drunken celebrities, the pair managed to find some quality of peace. Tina looked all the more lovely in the moonlight. Despite her initial abrasiveness, Newt watched the delicate way she appreciated every little detail in the landscaping, taking the opportunity to quietly smell the enormous bush of lavender. Here in the night, her stubborn, bull-headedness had settled to a low simmer. 

“So, what happened with Gellert last week?” Tina asked the question in such a casual way, it almost slipped past Newt’s barriers. His hand twitched involuntarily, slicing his index finger on a nearby thorn. Wrapping the bleeding cut with the bottom of his shirt, Newt’s mind was ringing with alarm. Tina’s eyes had quickly turned from welcoming to accusatory while she waited for him to answer the question. 

“Nothing,” Newt blurted. His finger had gone numb from the excessive pressure he was putting on his injury. He silently wished that the rest of him would lose all sensation as well. Tina shook her head, and Newt was surprised to see an amusedsmile on her face.

“You realize,” she said, “that’s the most suspicious answer you could have possibly given.” Newt sucked on his bottom lip, guilty. 

“Well…”

Tina made another pivot, now completely serious and demanding. “What happened, Newt?” All the words he wanted to say were quickly filling his throat. Newt was choking on secrets, but he knew that the moment he coughed them up, the rest of the world would drown as well. 

“I can’t tell you,” he confessed through gritted teeth. Tina was, predictably, unimpressed. She angrily brushed a lock of hair out of her face. Though she was not yet actively glaring at him, there were definitely embers behind her eyes.

“Why not?”

Newt considered the question for a second. The feeling had been so instinctive, he hadn’t thought about the motivation behind his refusal. Out of everyone he’d met in New York, Tina was by far his closest friend. Yet, the more he searched the memories he wished to tell her, the clearer the image of Ariana Dumbledore became. He saw her before him, real as she had been in the apartment, crying out in a pain that couldn’t be physically quantified.. He just saw her eyes, blue and roiling as the sea. They were staring at him, charging him with Ariana’s fate. If Gellert’s consort had been anyone else, Newt would have had no issue revealing the atrocities that had happened in the city “It’s just…” Newt attempted, “there were things that got too…personal.”

Tina groaned, “Don’t tell me that you’ve taken a mistress as well.”

“Teenie!” an entirely new voice interrupted their tense interaction. It was light, airy, like the night itself, and as Newt turned around to see its owner, belonged to a young woman. She was pretty, but first and foremost, styled to a tee. Her blonde hair was curled and stiff, her makeup done to perfection, and her dress more over the top than any other Newt had seen thus far. The garment was pink, glittering, and wretched with rosy ostrich feathers. Her eyes glowed with a friendly, amiable quality.

“Queenie!” Newt had never seen Tina so excited, or distracted from a goal, as she dashed over to the woman with a momentous grin on her face. The girls shared a tight embrace. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back in town?”

“I thought you could use a surprise,” the stranger said. Tina turned back to Newt, ecstatically pointing at the other woman.

“My sister,” she beamed. 

“Nice to meet you,” Newt said, nodding in place of a handshake. 

Queenie didn’t really seem to care, effervescent with the jazz’s buzz. “Why aren’t you out enjoying yourself in the party? Not trying to track down our mysterious host, for once?” She asked the question of Tina, but Newt’s curiosity was piqued instead.

“Mysterious? You mean you’ve never met him?” he inquired timidly.

“None of us have,” Queenie explained in a manner-of-fact tone. “Percival Graves is as much of a myth as he is a man. He waltzed in here a couple of years ago, opened up his doors, and welcomed people in without so much as an introduction. You probably know as much as the next person here. But, I mean, that’s half the fun: speculating.” 

“I wouldn’t listen to any of her theories, Newt,” Tina warned, but Queenie was already chugging towards her own conclusions. 

“William Abernathy told me that Graves went to school at Durmstrang, and graduated at the top of his class,” Queenie gossiped in a hushed voice. “He said that Graves comes from a rich European family, and moved to New York to infiltrate MACUSA and the American democracy as a whole.” She gave Newt an expectant look, searching his face for any kind of a reaction. After a mere second of tension, he cracked a half-smile, doing his best to hold back further mirth. Tina was unrestrained, throwing back her head, cackling and clapping her sister on the back.

“I told you that story was unbelievable,” she insisted.

Queenie looked slightly miffed. “It’s possible!”

“You think Percival Graves is some kind of Russian spy?” Tina guffawed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not serious…but it could be plausible! He is oddly secretive,” Queenie said defensively. Tina doubled over. Her loud peals of laughter were strangely soothing to Newt’s nerves. “Hold on!” Queenie continued, now on full damage control. “I’ve heard other things too.”

“Like what?” Newt chuckled, covering his mouth for fear of being rude. 

“Well, many people think he’s killed a man.” Queenie was using her dramatic hushed voice again, only making the theories seem all the sillier. “And even one of his butlers had a quite convincing argument that Graves is a descendent of the infamous Salazar Slytherin.” At this, Newt broke down heaving almost as hard as Tina was. Queenie placed her hands on her hips, a withering expression on her painted face. 

“I’m sorry,” Newt wheezed. “I’m sorry. It’s just-”

“Oh, now, it does sound stupid!” sighed Queenie angrily, but a ghost of a smile played on the corners of her mouth. “Still, you can’t prove me wrong.”

“You also can’t prove that any of your theories are right,” Tina countered, finally getting a hold of herself, “as funny as they are.”

“Well, I know plenty of people who would be happy to hear my ‘funny’ theories,” Queenie said. “Speaking of which,” she gestured to the path back towards the crowd, “there is a party for me to attend.” 

“Go ahead,” Tina offered. She looked pointedly at Newt, an unwelcome reminder that his interrogation was not over. “I just need a moment.” Queenie turned from Tina to Newt and nodded in a sort of silent understanding. 

“We’ll talk later then.” Queenie ducked out of the garden with a turn of her heel and a swish of her dress. Before Newt understood what was happening, Tina was back at his throat.

“Don’t think Queenie managed to completely distract me, Scamander,” she threatened. “You promised that you would tell me what happened in New York. You said you wanted to help Credence.”

“Credence! Credence! Credence! Credence!” Ariana’s voice echoed inside the walls of Newt’s mind. He winced, running his fingers through his hair in distress. Even with the roar of music surrounding them, Ariana Dumbledore’s voice was clear as day, haunting and mad. 

“Newt?” Tina tapped him slightly on the shoulder. 

“I can’t tell you,” he burst, taking a shaky step backward. “I can’t, Tina. Please, don’t make me. This is bigger than the two of us, now. I can’t tell you anything.” Newt could feel his hands trembling, and bit down hard on his bottom lip as he waited for Tina’s reaction. Her eyes were glued to the ground, rather than on his face. Newt sensed reluctance in her for the first time. When she looked up, Tina’s expression was rich with trepidation. 

“There’s someone I think you need to meet.”

 

Tina deposited Newt at one of the many tables surrounding Graves’ enormous pool, with the promise that she would be back once she had found the mysterious ‘someone.’ Even though Newt had begged her to both reveal who she was looking for, and not to leave him alone, she had brushed him off rather quickly, evaporating back into the mass of dancers. He couldn’t help but feel that this was his punishment for keeping secrets, that she had abandoned him and wasn’t coming back. In the meantime, he sat at the table with his feet turned in, automatically folding in on himself without anyone to distract him from the isolation of the event. Yes, large parties could be intimate, he decided, but he had to have at least one companion to keep from feeling frozen. 

Just when he thought he was lost, a waiter stopped at the table with a tray of fire whiskey, bowing his head to offer him a drink. Newt had opened his mouth to refuse, but inexplicably closed it after considering the glasses for a moment. He really shouldn’t be drinking again, not after the pain that had followed his trip to the apartment, but there was something that drew him to take a whiskey anyway. 

Newt cradled the drink, quietly, surveying the scene, but not comprehending it as more than a blur of color. The music, which had previously been so energetic and lively, sounded like a low drone outside of his little bubble. No one seemed to notice him, only adding to his invisibility. So, Newt sat there, trapped in mind and memory, with nothing but the whiskey to keep him company.

It was the voice of Albus Dumbledore that came back to him on his little island. “You know Newt,” the man could barely form a sentence, his tongue thick with alcohol. At the time in the apartment, Newt had been enamored with Albus’ words. “I think I like you drunk. You’re fun for once!” The pair had broke down, giggling at a situation that wasn’t truly funny.

Newt stared at the amber liquid in his glass, pondering it for a moment. He could feel his heartbeat in his head. It was betraying him, swollen with Albus’ voice, urging him to down the drink. Fun. Fun. Fun. Fun. The word stomped throughout every thought, an uncomfortable chant that wouldn’t leave Newt alone.

When Tina didn’t return in the next half hour, Newt folded to the will of the demanding voices. The whiskey burned down his throat, and left the rest of his body feeling warm. 

With each following whiskey, he began to understand how the rest of the guests saw the party. If the event had seemed fantastic before, a dull mind only made the experience more surreal. Newt gave in to the chaos. The entire scene was kaleidoscopic, wealthy celebrities floating in and out of view in different colors and patterns. Newt watched a previously prideful businessman, fall head first into the pool after being slapped across the face by a particularly displeased model. Several different couples had given up on dancing, reverting to openly kissing one another across the dance floor. It was the ultimate scene of moral rejection, but Newt found himself loving its liberated and careless nature.

It was then that a stranger approached his table, effectively interrupting Newt’s self piteous internal monologue. “Excuse me?” the man asked. “Your face looks familiar. Were you in the 3rd Division in the war?” Newt snapped to clarity at the mention of the conflict, his hands clenching involuntarily. 

“Yes,” he confirmed, “the ninth battalion.”

“I was in the seventh,” the stranger revealed. Newt bobbed his head along with his words, unable to focus on the man’s face. Under any other circumstance, the lull in conversation would have made Newt squirm. In the place of his awkwardness, Newt locked onto a couple that was carrying out an intense argument entirely through whispers. The stranger cleared his throat, “May I sit down?” Newt shrugged, gesturing to the empty seat.

For at least an hour, they talked about empty things: everything from the valley of ashes development to the stock market. Newt had long given up on Tina’s return, and the casual association was welcome. He probably wouldn’t see the man ever again, a fact that assured Newt’s anxiety. He was even warming up to the stranger as a whole. 

“Are you enjoying the party?” the man asked, after their debate over President Harding had finally fizzled out. 

“Of course.” Newt leapt at the opportunity for conversation excluding politics. “You see, I got this invitation,” He pulled the parchment out of his breast pocket and showed it to the bystander, “but I seem to be the only one who was formally called on, and I haven’t been able to pay my respects to Mr. Graves.”

“Well,” the man chuckled, “I’m afraid that I haven’t been a very good host then.” The realization hit Newt just as the first fireworks sparked in the sky. His head swiveled to look at the man that he’d been half ignoring for the first time.

Newt couldn’t see Graves’ face at first; he was silhouetted in front of the fireworks, statuesque and backlit as the crowd exploded along with the lights in the sky. The situation was befitting a man of Graves’ stature. And as the pyrotechnics began to fade, his appearance lived up to his legendary reputation. 

Regal and proud in his white suit, Percival Graves was the closest Newt had ever come to meeting royalty. He practically glowed. The lapels of his jacket were lined with gold. The same yellow color seemed to be reflected in his dark eyes. He had the kind of confident smile that was infectious. It filled Newt with a foreign feeling of exuberance and excitement. He had the nagging sensation that it was a rare kind of smile, one that he was already treasuring.

When it came down to it, however, Percival Graves was not the god, the legend, or the monster that he had been warned about. Newt was surprised not to be let down by the human being the stood before him. Graves towered above the gossip, above the rumors. His remarkable, oddly ordinary reality was more attractive than any rogue or villain would have been. 

“I-I-” Newt stuttered, numbly holding out his hand for Graves to shake. “I-”

“Newt!” the familiar voice and face of Tina Goldstein invaded his slanted field of vision. “I see you’ve already met Mr. Nobody.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I was looking for you everywhere!” Tina sighed at Graves. Just as the words passed her lips, the realization of her mistake seemed to dawn on her. “Newt, I’m so sorry! I was looking for Graves, and then I ran into Queenie again, and we got into this weird confrontation with a Confunded baker, and I got lost-”

“It’s fine,” Newt said, though he wasn’t sure that he’d forgiven her yet. On one hand, her flustered appearance was genuine enough, but, that wasn’t much of an excuse for abandoning him in a huge party where he knew no one. Still, Newt had long since resigned himself to put up with whatever the New Yorkers did to him.

“Graves, this is the man I was telling you about-”

“Newt Scamander,” Graves finished coolly. “Goldstein, we’ve been talking for the past hour. I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting your friend.” Tina gaped at Newt for a second, as if she was surprised he hadn’t scared Graves off with his ineptitude yet. 

“I’m glad that you’re getting along then,” she shrugged. “That saves me the pain of introductions.” Newt cocked his head to one side, remembering her frustration with being introduced as ‘Porpentina.’ Before he could respond, his stomach gave a horrific lurch, and the beautiful world of the party started to spin as well. The colorful jubilation flipped, turning into a smeared nightmare. His eyes couldn’t focus on a singular person or object. Newt clenched his jaw as hard as he could. It took every cell of concentration to keep him from vomiting. 

“Newt?” Tina’s voice bounced around the inside of his skull. His name had lost its meaning in that moment, but as she gingerly tapped him on the shoulder, Newt snapped back to attention.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you would like to go to lunch with me tomorrow,” said Graves, his brown eyes giving away no discernible emotion. Newt couldn’t place what was so comforting about his expression. He stared too long, scrambling to find his answer and mumble a tentative ‘yes.’ Newt was feeling nauseous again, and locked his fingers around the arms of the chair.

“You should head home, Newt,” Tina said. She sounded legitimately concerned, her eyes wide while examining his face. “I can walk you.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Newt insisted, rising shakily to his feet. He decidedly ignored the way his knees sunk under the weight of his body. 

“You sure, old sport?” Graves shared Tina’s nervous posture. Newt looked from one to the other. He was determined to stay focused despite the odd way the ground slanted from side to side. 

“I think Tina has to talk to you,” Newt said a little too loudly. “I’m just next door. I’ll make it.” He tripped as he backed away, a perfect exit to his bizarre night. Neither of them tried to stop him while he stumbled out of the room.

Emerging onto his property, Newt couldn’t help but feel like he had been rudely awakened from a dream. The evening breeze, the rough grass, the twinkling stars, all felt harsh and unnatural. Even as Newt tasted bile, his mind was still filled with the marvelous sights and sounds of Graves mansion. His home appeared so lopsided and small, and Newt couldn’t tell if it was because of its physical form or the fire whiskey he was about to regurgitate all over the lawn. Drowning in his stupor, he felt like he’d just taken part in a grand, cataclysmic part of history, a singular event that would guide the rest of his life. 

Just as he started to ponder such a possibility, Newt’s stomach heaved and his attention was refocused onto guiding his sick away from his shoes. 

 

Newt didn’t remember going to sleep, but he awoke regardless, facedown on his porch swing. He groaned, his joints popping and vision spotted as he attempted to right himself. It was still dark outside; Graves’ house remained the only source of light. Newt blearily checked his watch. Two AM. He doubled over with his head in his hands, regret pounding in his chest almost as hard as the pain in his head. Shame filled his throat in the place of vomit. He had no choice except to wait for the bout of dizziness to dissipate.

When his brain and stomach settled, Newt peered up at Graves house again. He could still see guests milling around in the illuminated windows. The faintest echo of music continued to filter through the garden. Newt sat quietly, with his knees on his elbows, watching Graves’ planet whizz by his humble home. As he remained enamored with the mansion next door, a beam of bright green light flashed past the corner of his eye.

Newt froze, bracing himself for a curse that didn’t come. It took him minutes to regain the courage to move. When he turned towards the source of the green, he had to squint in its glow. Once his eyes registered the sight before him, he couldn’t quite believe it.

The light had come from across the bay, sweeping across the water in long strokes. Newt knew that he’d seen it before, though it what context, his intoxicated memory could not tell him. But rather than stare into the glare, Newt focused on the end of the mansion’s dock, where a man stood, enchanted with the emerald brilliance. 

It didn’t take long to recognize him as Percival Graves. Even at a distance, his white suit and dark hair were striking. Bathed in light, he’d somewhat lost his regality. When Graves was removed from the flash and spark of the party, he was just another well-dressed man. No he was less than that. The way he stood exuded vulnerability and weakness, instead of the confident host he had been just hours before.

Graves’ shoulders were hunched, one arm extended towards the light itself. Newt couldn’t be sure, but he thought Graves might be trembling, shaking, from what he didn’t know. However, the man’s intentions were clear. He was grasping at the radiance as if it were his only salvation, reaching for it with utter desperation and desire. 

Newt didn’t understand. The slightest flash of green would torture any experienced wizard’s nerves. During the war, he’d seen that same horror cast on many a man during magical conflict. He knew the way it robbed his comrades of their lives. The same green burst had been a scourge in a wizarding conflict that should have never been fought. When he looked across the bay, Newt came face to face with the Killing Curse all over again.

He presumed that Graves shared his experience, that his own time in the military had ruined the sight. Yet the man just kept extending himself towards the source of pain. Though his heart was filled with curiosity, it didn’t take long for Newt to drift off again and leave Graves to his unexplained suffering.

 

By the next afternoon, Graves’ former glory was restored and appearance composed. Newt was starting to question whether the man could wear anything besides a three piece suit. While Newt ended up with another worn sports jack and pants, Graves was once again fully groomed. He appeared on the doorstep, bright as the sun in a khaki suit and gold tie. His smile was almost as blinding as the gleaming, yellow car he’d stepped out of. Though Graves looked confident, Newt couldn’t help but be reminded of the dreamlike image of his confliction on the dock.

“Feeling better today, I hope?” Graves said. Despite the myriad of healing spells Newt had performed to overcome his hangover, his head was still fuzzy. The sun still triggered sharp pain in the center of his skull, but he managed to nod. “Marvelous.” Graves clapped sharply. There was something bizarrely put upon about his chipper attitude in daylight, and it was making Newt uncomfortable. 

“Nice car,” he spluttered, trying his best to fill the void in conversation. Graves didn’t seem to hear him. He was already leading the way down the winding cottage path to his gleaming vehicle. Newt sighed, but followed along anyway.

The vehicle truly was more than a ‘nice car.’ Newt had never seen such an automobile before. Each seat, front and back, was richly upholstered in a cream colored leather that’s cost was too incredible for Newt to fathom. The chrome trim practically sparkled in the afternoon sun, impeccably polished and maintained. The real beauty of the car, though, had to be in the color. The vibrant yellow stunned him as he got closer. Depending on which way he approached the car, it seemed a different shade. When he cocked his head one way, it was as gold as Graves’ tie; the other direction, it looked like a daisy’s center. Graves opened the passenger door, still exuding conviction that couldn’t be matched.

Newt hesitated. The vehicle…it was too perfect to touch. He worried that he would tarnish it, that the dirt perpetually beneath his fingernails would destroy the car’s absolute perfection. He didn’t want to ruin it with his questionable clothing or unworthy personality. 

“Nice car,” he repeated dumbly. Graves chuckled.

“I’m hoping it’ll even fly one day. Wouldn’t that be something?” he offered, once again gesturing to the passenger seat. This time, Newt complied, stiffly lowering himself onto the cream seat. He didn’t want to move. He couldn’t move. Instead, Newt sat there with taught muscles as the other man got behind the wheel. He watched as Graves fiddled with his suit jacket and smoothed his pants.

“We’re not going to an apartment, are we?” Newt blurted out nervously as the engine reared to life. Graves slammed his foot on the brake, despite never having started to drive, and stared at Newt with a mixture of shock and confusion brewing on his suddenly serious face. He kept his jaw locked while his brown eyes scoured Newt’s features for what felt like an eternity. 

Then, as quickly as he’d snapped, Graves reverted to his welcoming self. “Of course not,” he said, forcing a casual tone. “I told you we’d be going out to lunch. Don’t you remember?”

Newt chewed on his lip again. “I was beginning to think ‘lunch’ meant a different kind of thing in New York,” he muttered, decidedly avoiding Graves eyes. The memory of the suffering in Gellert’s secret home was still as fresh as the day it had happened, and after what Queenie had been saying about Graves, Newt just had to be sure. 

The car started to cruise away from his house, both men silent and somewhat uncomfortable. Newt tried to focus on the great estates that they passed on their way, detaching himself from the awkwardness he’d created. The summer weather was well on its way to drying up the landscape. The grass and trees, while still green, were looking parched and limp. They were in need of a good storm soon. Newt was in the middle of imagining the effects of such rain, when Graves finally, and formally, broke the silence.

“Look,” he said, “I know you probably heard many things about me yesterday.” Newt didn’t know whether to confess that he had, or stay quiet. He opted for the second option. “So I think you deserve some form of truth,” Graves continued, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. “Later today I’m going to ask you something very important. Your response my question could very well change the course of many people’s lives. But before I make demands of you, Newt, you should at least know the person behind such a request.” Newt nodded. Everything coming out of Graves’ mouth sounded perfectly reasonable. It was just that the cheeriness with which he said it was put upon. He had the sinking feeling that Percival Graved was still lying, that he was not usually such a lively or jovial person. Whenever he took a peek at Graves, his face was stressed with happiness. But his brown eyes always maintained a serious quality, a somberness that never left his expression. 

“So you’re not the Heir of Slytherin then?” Newt asked, his form of a joke falling flat on his face. However, Graves seemed genuinely amused for the first time since his arrival.

“Hardly,” he said. “The only thing I was ever an heir to was money.”

“From your parents?”

“They were wealthy magnates from San Fransisco,” Graves explained. “Their fortune was passed onto me when they died.” He took a deep breath and a quick glance at Newt before continuing. “But I wasn’t just going to sit there with their savings and waste my life away. I moved to England when the war first broke out, was educated and trained as an Auror with the British Ministry of Magic.” 

Newt’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the ministry. Sure, he’d never been one to pursue a career in the government, but from what he understood, becoming an Auror wasn’t something that a man just signed up for. It took years of education and evaluation to even qualify to become an Auror, much less to complete training. Yet, Graves described it in such a banal way. The artificiality of his words was sticking out again, like a hidden weapon under an article of clothing. Newt wasn’t sure what to believe. 

“After that,” Graves plowed ahead, “I enlisted in a special forces unit, fought in the seventh. When the war ended, I spent time traveling in Europe, before eventually settling back here. But, that doesn’t make me Durmstrang spy.” The sarcastic commentary was the only part of Graves’ list that felt real. The rest of his story was rattled off in a stilted fashion. It felt like a rehearsed script that Graves had memorized and practiced repeatedly. Newt began to withdraw, and Graves clearly noticed. 

Just as the car hit the rough road of the valley of ashes, Graves started fumbling around in a compartment, eventually brandishing a photograph. Newt grabbed it as quickly as possible to get Graves’ mind back on the road. The car flew through the dusty landscape while the anonymous faces of the industry workers flashed past the windows. 

Newt turned his attention to the picture in his hands. He’d never understood how muggles enjoyed photography when the people didn’t move. While the black and white figures in Graves’ photograph were posed formally, it was comforting to watch them talking and interacting in their own little world. 

It took Newt a moment to recognize a younger Graves in full Auror uniform. He didn’t physically look very different from his present day self, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made him seem like a different person. His effervescence was real and absolutely infectious, making this man seem decades younger than the Graves sitting next to Newt. The man in the photograph was trying to contain an enormous grin as he peeked back at the huge Ministry of Magic seal behind him. And then another man entered the frame, making it Newt’s turn to smile. Archer Evermonde had walked into the frame, and took Graves by the hand. Percival Graves was shaking hands with the Minister of Magic. 

“That was after the end of the war,” Graves elaborated. “I was receiving this.” He pulled something else from the compartment and slid it over to Newt.

It was a badge, silver with blue writing, that shined even in the miserable environment. “Major Percival Graves,” Newt read aloud, squinting at the letters. “For-”

“Valor extraordinaire,” finished Graves. Pausing, Newt considered his story as a whole. He was still bothered by Graves’ repressed attitude and false expressions, but was thrown by the physical evidence in his hand. It took him the rest of the drive into the city to reach even the shakiest of conclusions. 

Yes, Graves seemed like a charlatan. Yes, his warning of a request felt ominous. Yes, there were a thousand ways that Graves and Gellert felt more similar than different. But Newt, against all odds, decided to willingly trust the man behind the wheel. 

 

The speakeasy was smoky and loud, but the crowd put Newt at ease. It wasn’t a claustrophobic apartment full of bitter, venomous people. Rather, the environment reminded Newt of Graves’ party. The people stretched across bars and lounging in seats were mischievous and jubilant. Nevertheless, Graves kept a tight grip on Newt’s shoulder as a goblin lead them to their table. 

Newt had assumed that an illegal bar run out of the back of cobbler’s would be cautious, that everyone would keep quiet to avoid detection by wizard and muggle authorities alike. He had never been more wrong. A boisterous group of drunken men with heavy French accents nearly crashed into a pair of house elves attempting to serve drinks. A woman, that Newt swore was a Veela, danced with the jazz band playing, and mesmerized all those who laid eyes on her. Graves had to purposefully push Newt in the right direction to keep him from getting lost among all them all.

Through the smoke and noise, the pair of them finally laid eyes on her. 

Newt immediately identified the woman as powerful. The entire room was a confusing mixture of those who positioned themselves as far from her as possible, and those who crowded her with eager, hushed voices. Hidden by a throng of people, Newt couldn’t even see her face until Graves called her name.

“Picquery!” he shouted over the cacophony. She perked up, expression sharp and inquisitive. The woman smiled with her eyes rather than her lips and gently pushed her way across the floor. Newt was suddenly struck by the command of both her attitude and appearance.

She did not subscribe to the styles of the other women in the bar. While the rest of them aimed to cut as much hair and show as much skin as possible, Picquery was doing the exact opposite. She wore a midnight blue, pin-stripped suit that accentuated her great height and long limbs while still keeping her modest. Even her hair was mostly hidden beneath a bronze turban. A pale blonde finger wave peeked out above each ear. 

She didn’t bother waiting for Graves to introduce her. “Seraphina Picquery,” she announced, taking Newt’s hand in a firm grip. “I presume you’re the friend that Percival was talking about.” He’d expected to be intimidated by her, but Newt discovered that her dominance was unexpectedly calming. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he responded.

“No need to bother with that ‘ma’am’ nonsense,” Picquery waved away. “I’m just a woman, not the President.” She brushed Newt off quickly, and turned to the man that she clearly preferred to talk to. “Have you heard from Chicago yet, Graves?”

“They won’t stop calling me,” he sighed. ‘I can’t have a moment of peace and quite without some kind of emergency.” They prattled on. Newt found his mind wandering through their foreign business terms and financial exasperation. He was starting to worry that Graves had dragged him to the speakeasy all to trick him into some kind of illegal business contract. Newt sincerely hoped that under the table dealings were not part of the “request” that Graves had been talking about. 

“I’m going to get the manager and order lunch,” Graves announced, bringing Newt back to the present. “You’ll take care of my friend, won’t you Picquery?” Before either of them could react, Graves had evaporated into the the maze of other people, leaving Newt with a complete stranger.

“You seem a little naive to be coming here,” Picquery commented to break the tension. “How the hell did Percival manage to rope you into all this?” Newt laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it. In the New York world of pageantry and theatricality, he was relieved by her blunt manner of speaking.

“I don’t really know,” he admitted. Picquery smiled coolly. 

“That’s normal,” she assured, taking a seat at the table and encouraging Newt to do the same. “Percival can have that effect on people. There’s a reason that so many people come to his parties. I assume you met him at one of those circuses?” 

“Yesterday.”

Picquery examined him again, evaluating what to say next. “He lives in a fantasy world. You shouldn’t forget that.” They were the words that Newt had been waiting for and had expected her to say. In two sentences, she’d confirmed every doubt in his mind about Graves’ false life. “But,” she continued, “I would be lying if I said that Percival wasn’t the best man that I’ve ever met.” Newt blinked. He could not comprehend her sudden bait and switch. “There aren’t many genuinely good people in this city, Mr. Scamander. I would be ashamed to present half of my closest associates to anyone I truly care about. However, I’m lucky to know Percival. He’s the kind of man you bring home to your mother.”

“Alright.” There was nothing else Newt could possibly say to such a declaration. 

“And I assure you that Graves is especially careful when it comes to other people’s husbands,” Picquery said with a pointed look. Newt felt like he’d been struck across the face. There was something else going on below the surface of her words, but he felt too slow to catch on. So he just sat there, confused, with his mouth slightly open.

“Getting along?” Just as quickly as he’d disappeared, Graves was back at the table, holding a glass of champagne. 

Newt panicked. “We were just talking about other people’s husbands.” 

“Oh,” Graves said, staring at Picquery in shock. Her eyes were glittering again, as she deliberately got to her feet. 

“It was great meeting you Mr. Scamander,” she said with a smirk. “I’ll talk to you later, Percival.” With that, she swished away, leaving the two of them in the wake of her commentary. 

“Who is she?” Newt asked in awe. “An actress?”

“Seraphina?” Graves paused. “She’s just like the rest of us. She’s a businessman; she’s a gambler.”

“A gambler?” Newt wasn’t catching on. Graves leaned over the table. He was careful to keep his voice hushed and private.

“She’s the one who fixed the past three American Quidditch Cups,” he revealed.

“Fixed them? How in the world would she do that?” Despite Picquery’s obvious command, Newt didn’t think that such a feat was even possible.

Graves shrugged, “She saw the opportunity, I suppose.”

“Newt! What are you doing here?” The voice made Newt involuntarily clench his fists. He closed his eyes, silently praying that the man would turn away and leave him alone. But Gellert Grindelwald was a determined bastard, and he didn’t hesitate to march right up to Newt’s table. Next to him, Graves went pale. “What are you doing here?” Gellert repeated. 

“I’m here with Mr. Graves,” Newt replied, hoping to pass off the conversation to the other man at the table. “He lives right across the bay.”

“Oh,” Gellert said hurriedly, waving Graves off without a second thought. “Look, Credence was wondering where you’ve been. You should come by the house sometime.”

“Alright-”

“I’m here with Tina Goldstein,” Gellert steamed on, full power ahead. “You should come talk.” Newt’s chest tightened automatically, stuck between the thought of seeing Tina and having to tolerate Gellert. Trapped in his thoughts, Newt almost forgot his host.

“Graves…” he turned to him, and trailed off.

Percival Graves had utterly and completely vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. Do not hesitate to leave me any and all feedback. It never stops making my days!  
> I usually don't give teasers, but if you have read the Great Gatsby, you know what's coming next. I've never been so excited for an exposition scene in all my life!  
> Stay tuned <3


	5. Chapter 5

Tina managed to shake off Gellert by introducing him to a stiff-looking banker and starting a conversation about magical security. It took about two seconds for him to forget that Tina and Newt were standing only a few feet behind him. They watched him, unsurprised, out of pure habit. Then Tina’s hand closed around Newt’s, and she pulled him away from the rest of the world. 

“He mentioned a request,” Newt explained as they reached the balcony. “He said it was important, but he left without telling me anything.” Tina closed the door behind them, looking out at the horizon with blank eyes. Hot air swept across the skyline, eventually rustling through her hair. Newt found himself dwelling on how beautiful she was in that moment. “Tina, I-”

“Before I can say anything about Graves, we need to talk abut Credence,” she rushed. “Graves’ request is about Credence.”

“Why?” Newt hadn’t had time to even process the significance of what she’d said, but that didn’t stop him from automatically attacking the idea. ‘Other people’s husbands.’ His pulse started to quicken. Despite his best efforts to avoid it, Newt’s thoughts were suddenly cluttered with hideous predictions about Graves’ motivation.

Tina, squirming, let out a deep breath. “It’s complicated,” she said. “And I’ve just started to understand everything.” She shook her head. “I know that Graves can come off strong, but I think you should trust him. I certainly do.”

“I don’t understand,” Newt confessed. Keeping her eyes focused on the horizon, Tina sighed. As she composed herself, a large cloud passed over the sun, casting them into the shade. It was a welcome relief from the humid city temperatures, but Newt had the nagging feeling that the cool air was an omen rather than a blessing. 

Tina began, “I met Credence when we were eleven years old.”

 

That was a lie, not that it mattered much. It was not her job to give Newt her autobiography down to every measly, shameful detail. No, her job was to sell him on Graves’ plan, and she couldn’t possibly do that if Newt knew all of her past failures. She was painting him a picture, an appealing little postcard that, while not completely inaccurate, would cast everything in the most favorable of lights.

In the story she told Newt, Credence was always an eternally optimistic socialite. She became his friend the moment they met. No one at school was needlessly cruel or rude to him. Everything was swell. Tina wove the narrative as she always did. Every word was intentional, essential to setting up Credence’s climactic high and tragic fall.

She told herself the fabrication was for Graves’ sake, for Newt’s sake. Tina tried her best to ignore how every revision was a correction of her own failures. If she was telling the truth, Tina would have admitted that she was going along with Graves’ schemes solely because she’d failed Credence too many times before. And she wasn’t going to let that happen again. 

Tina was absent during every turning point in her best friend’s life. She hadn’t met Credence when they were eleven, arguably the most important year he would ever experience. It wasn't until half way through their second year of Ilvermorny that Tina even knew he existed. Of course, she would never tell Newt such a thing. Still, she allowed herself to dwell in the memory, even as her mouth ran away with falsehoods.

When she finally met him, Credence was impossible to ignore: such a strange, beautiful, powerful child. Most of the other students regarded him as a sort of alien, and Tina began as one of them. The boy was irreversibly and constantly agitated. One moment he was anxious. The next, he was excited. It wasn’t just that the boy was clearly raised in a No-Maj family. There was something else that was off about him. 

But while the other kids were afraid, Tina was intrigued. 

“I’m Tina,” she announced one October morning at breakfast. He was sitting alone, hunched over a plate of heavily buttered toast. 

“Good to know,” the boy muttered. The table around him was stacked with thick, heavy books and he was pouring over three particularly heavy volumes all at once. He barely looked up while she spoke.

“Excuse me?” she asked, as if his snubbing had been a mistake. Nevertheless, the boy’s dark pupils stayed fixated on the paragraphs. Tina watched him for few more seconds, somehow still expecting a reaction. 

He was the one to break the silence. “My mother says it’s rude to stare.”

“And my mother says it’s rude to ignore other people.”

“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” he confessed, retreating into his own nervous guilt. “I was just reading.” Tina’s eyes drifted from the boy’s thin, drawn face to the enormous leather bound book to his left. 

“A Complete History of Magical Spell Theory?” she read off the spine. “That sounds a little dense.” 

He shrugged. “It’s real interesting to me.” Yanking the book back into his lap, the boy started chewing the inside of his cheek. “I’m Credence, by the way.” 

The conversation itself lasted mere minutes, but that was enough for the both of them. Tina returned to the lonely little table the next day…and the next day…and the next. He was just too unique to walk away from. Tina watched as he devoured half of the school library in his own desperate attempt to catch up to his wizard-born classmates. 

Tina didn’t think that was possible. Even as Credence absorbed himself in magical manuals, there was nothing that he could do to match the abilities of his classmates. He just had too much power and too little control. Tina’s magic sizzled at the surface. Credence’s set the world on fire. They established their friendship in the smoke of his destruction.

In more ways than one, the pair of them rose from the ashes. 

Thick as thieves, they grew with each season. Credence hatched around the middle of their third year. He’d gotten his confidence as a Christmas present when his mother rescinded his invitation home. The tether of the No-Maj world was cut and he was more than ready to fly. Tina barely recognized this new boy who challenged their history professor, stole from the library, and spoke up in social situations. The mastery of his magic took a backseat to an evolving personality and reputation. 

It was Credence who convinced Tina to try Quidditch in her sixth year. It was Credence who got her an in with a professional team directly out of school. It was Credence who built her life. The lonely boy at the lunch table sculpted a new future before her, all without realizing that his glimmering world would ultimately draw them apart. 

It was inevitable. Tina knew that. But, the further away she felt Credence slip, the harder she grasped at him. She was trapped, searching the memory for signs of the man she’d lost in her adult life. 

After graduation, they drifted. Credence fully embraced a new identity on a downstate property. Tina dedicated herself to her Quidditch team and left school behind. Of course, she left that out in the story she told Newt. Their distance didn’t matter in that specific narrative. Yet, the ache in her chest still remained. 

Years after the end of school, their busy schedules finally lined up and Tina was invited to spend the summer at the old Barebone estate. Credence’s mother had left him the house to make sure he never had a reason to return to the rest of his family, but even such resentment couldn’t mar the beauty of the property. When Tina arrived, she was stunned by the sprawling lawn and quaint cottage, the endless, flowery garden, and backyard pond. It wasn’t the richest or flashiest place, a sight that she found oddly comforting.

It quickly became clear that the property wasn’t the attraction: Credence was. 

From the first day she spent there, the place was crawling with men. They were soldiers, army doctors, Aurors, wizards and No-Majs alike. Every week, Credence was with a new man. James. Martin. Nick. William. Tina lost track of their names at a certain point. They were interchangeable, each newcomer with a prettier face and more unbearable personality than the last. That was, until, Percival Graves waltzed into Credence’s life. 

Tina hadn’t known who he was at the time. The only time she ever saw him was in the car, but “Mr. Nobody” became a near constant presence at the house. She hadn’t expected him to last longer than any of the others and was never happier to be wrong when he stuck around. Though she never saw his face again, Graves was everywhere. Tina saw him in Credence’s face every morning, in his eyes every evening. There was an identifiable glow that followed him from each encounter, bright lively energy that shone through his skin.

“Where were you last night?” Tina would ask. Credence blushed like a child.

“Nowhere.” 

Tina would raise her eyebrows, but never looked up from whatever she was working on. “With no one, I presume?”

“Nobody.”

“Well, do me a favor and send Mr. Nobody my regards, then.”

The summer had to come to an end. Tina knew that. Autumn hurtled towards her by the day, carrying with it the threat of a sore life without her closest friend. There was nothing she dreaded more than the return to reality. Even speaking to Newt, she clung to the image of Credence: vibrant, dynamic, and truly happy. That man went missing long ago. Sometimes, Tina thought she was the only one still looking for him. 

When she returned to his home two years later, Credence was unidentifiable. He opened the door with a glazed expression and trembling hands, so utterly vacant. Like a stuffed animal, Credence had been hollowed out and hung like a decoration for all the other petty socialites to gawk at. His glassy eyes stared at Tina without really seeing her. His mouth curled out of habit rather than joy. His new fur coats and satin clothes served as a shield for him to hide behind.

Their conversations were stilted and rehearsed. For the first time in her life, she could not recognize the taxidermy of a person sitting next to her. Tina began to fish for signs of life in him, purposely bringing up past pain in false hopes of triggering some kind of emotional reaction. It was midnight before she finally brought up the remarkable absence of Percival Graves  
“What happened to Mr. Nobody?” Tina asked in her most convincing innocence. 

Credence’s lip twitched and he kept his gaze fixed on a point across the room. “Who?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” accused Tina. Credence raised his eyebrows, persisting in his own illusion. Tina played along and prompted him further. “That handsome brunette you were seeing the last time I was here?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, well…”

“Come on, Credence. I remember. You were so sweet on him,” she teased, nudging him with the corner of her shoulder. She’d done it a thousand times to lighten a situation, but something this time was horribly wrong. Credence jolted away, turning his back on her.

“He never came back from the war,” he whispered, failing to cover the pathetic crack in his voice. They hung in the moment, each suspended in an impossible truth that neither could rationalize.

“Credence, I’m so sor-”

“I’m fine,” he said, though his tone implied them the opposite. “Gellert says there’s no use dwelling in the past.” It was the first time Tina heard his name. Even then, the strangest feeling of foreboding overwhelmed her impression of him. The way Credence talked about the man was dripping in a contrary combination of devotion and fear. Tina didn’t understand why, until she met Gellert the next day at breakfast. 

“Credence!” he shouted from the top of the stairs. Tina almost choked to death on her oatmeal, but her reaction was nothing compared to her friend’s. Credence dropped his plate onto the tiled floor with a horrible crash. The noise was met with more shouting from upstairs. “Credence! What the hell is going on down there?” Tina rushed to help her friend hurriedly clean up the shards. 

Gellert’s footsteps barely made a sound, and he was standing in the doorway before they knew it. His pale face was dark with aggression, light eyes flashing with what could only be described as danger. The man looked about ready to hit something until he looked from Credence to Tina. 

“My apologies,” he said in a voice like oil. “I didn’t know that we had a guest.” 

“That makes two of us, then,” Tina replied through gritted teeth. Gellert returned her forced smile, before making his way across the ceramic mess to Credence. 

Tina wasn’t stupid. Though they were never physically intimate with one another in front of her, she saw the way Gellert leered at him, and the way he worshipped Gellert. There was no logical explanation for their relationship that Tina had been able to determine in the three years they had been together. Sure, on the surface Gellert was smooth, wealthy, and well-mannered, but all Tina could see was a serpent lurking beneath his skin. For a split second, she thought Credence noticed the same thing.

When Gellert asked Credence to marry him, he did so with a necklace worth $350,000. Tina hadn’t been impressed, not the way everyone else was. Half of New York was at the engagement party, and Credence was suddenly and constantly surrounded by cooing, sycophantic socialites. They pawed at his shoulders in the hope that even a finger would brush against the necklace itself. Sadly, Credence expected the same reaction out of Tina. 

“What’s it supposed to be?” she asked, pointing at the symbol around his throat. It was entirely composed of large, heavy diamonds: a line inside a circle inside a triangle. Credence looked disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm.

“Don’t you like it?” His voice was high and forced. It usually hurt Tina to see his crushed expression, but that night it did the opposite. 

Tina couldn’t help the way she snapped at him. “Why does it matter what I think? Is your opinion worth nothing?” she ranted. The engagement party swirling around them started to feel claustrophobic and invasive. Since when did Credence need so many empty, vapid people to fill his life? Tina remembered the days when she was all he needed, the days before rotating casts of wealthy monsters crowded in. Part of her acknowledged that jealousy was responsible for her sudden rage, but the longer she stared at Credence’s empty face, the angrier she became. “Don’t you like it, Credence?” she demanded, jabbing a finger at the encrusted symbol. “Don’t you like any of this?” 

He looked as if he’d been slapped. Color rose to Credence’s cheeks. His breathing was audible and rushed. His lips parted in shock, before stuttering into a weak, forced smile. “Of course I…of course…I like it, Tina,” he struggled. Hand fluttering to his collar, Credence pressed the pendant into his skin until it bled. She watched in horror as he took a deep breath. “I like it,” he declared in what appeared to be physical pain. 

Tears were gathering in the corners of Tina’s eyes and she reached the sudden realization that Credence had never seen her cry. He never would. She turned on her heel and fled the engagement, determined to not look back at the shell she was leaving behind. 

The memory was still raw, so Tina only told Newt about the necklace and the price tag. By now, Newt stood in rapt and constant attention. His eyes were as wide as quarters. She saw the gears turning within his head. Newt wasn’t stupid. He was putting the pieces together. Pausing to take a breath, Tina kept her eyes glued to the skyline.

The only tragic Credence’s life that she dictated word for word was his wedding day.

It had been months since she’d seen him last. Ever since their confrontation at the engagement, Tina kept her distance. Needless to say, she didn’t need Credence or Gellert to tell her that she had no place in their new world. They purchased the mansion in East Egg, only pushing her further away. It came as quite a shock when a wedding invitation arrived half way through through Quidditch season.

The first thing Tina said upon opening the invitation was “shit.” It was too damn hard to maintain her anger. She recognized that giving in and going to the wedding would validate a relationship that she utterly despised. On the other hand, she wouldn’t be much of a friend if she refused. He still wrote with the naivety of a child, his irresistible innocent bleeding through the ink.

Damn it, Tina would have to attend the wedding whether she liked it or not.

She arrived in New York City at six in the morning, after a late exit from the last match of her season. Tina had planned to slip in through the back and sneak her way to the guest room before the rest of the house knew that she’d come. Naturally, nothing turned out exactly how she wanted it to.

A girl was waiting for her on the back porch, her gray uniform immediately indicating that she hired help of some sort. Gellert had talked at great length about “the filth of the house elves wretched race,” but it was still a surprise to see human help in a wizard home. The maid leapt up as Tina walked up the driveway.

“Are you Miss Goldstein?” the girl demanded.

“Yes?”

“I need you to come with me.” Grabbing her by the wrist, the maid dragged her over the doorstep and into the mansion. Tina barely had time to appreciate the cavernous rooms and opulent furniture as they rushed through the welcome hall and up a monstrous staircase.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is someone ill?” 

The maid shook her head. “Mr. Barebone received a letter…” She paused, visibly searching for the right words. “It’s got him awful upset.” With that, the girl ducked her head and lead Tina to a bedroom at the end of the hallway. “Wait here,” she instructed, “and I’ll call you in.” Much to her dismay, Tina was maligned to watching the scene unfold through a crack in the door. 

She didn’t understand how someone could be a beauty and a disaster at the same time. Credence was curled up on the bed like a wounded animal. The silk sheets were stripped from the mattress. Pillows were strewn across the floor. He had become the glorious and horrific centerpiece of the room. 

Even at his lowest moment, Credence Barebone was still alluring. His pink dressing gown nearly masked his bony, hunched frame. His eyes were the same rose color as his clothing, but the rest of his face was pale as death. Unlike Tina, Credence cried all the time, but never like this.

It almost looked like he was drowning. Wracked with heavy sobs, he would only rarely come up for air. Credence took desperate, gasping breaths, as if his head had broken through the surface of his grief. It wouldn’t last long; the current inevitably dragged him down again. His entire face was saturated and glistening.

Tina watched the miserable affair, clinging to the frame, and unsure of how to proceed. The maid fluttered out of the bathroom with a wet towel in her best attempt of comfort. Even as Credence whimpered, the poor girl tried to calm him down. As he recoiled, Tina noticed something new. His fingers were shaking violently, but he had something in his hands. She had to nudge the door further, but her thoughts were confirmed. It was a wrinkled piece of paper covered in what must have once been neat handwriting. The ink was spotted and running, the parchment nearly crumpled beyond repair. If it could still be read, it would be with great difficulty. Still Credence cradled the paper like his life depended on it. 

“Mr. Barebone,” the maid insisted. “Please. Mr. Grindelwald insists-”

“Tell him no!” he wailed. “Tell him Credence has changed his mind!” He looked around the room with wild, wide eyes, as if he were comprehending his surroundings for the first time. “Tell them all no!” Credence started clawing at his own neck, fingernails finally digging into the delicate silver chain around his throat. Tina couldn’t help but wince as he snapped the necklace off. The pendant went soaring across the room, encrusted beads scattering the floor. 

“Mr. Barebone…” The maid reached out to touch him again. Before Tina could understand what was happening, the room was filled with a hot white flash and the poor girl was screaming bloody murder. Tina was flung against the door. Her head was pounding by the time she hit the floor. It was a horrifically familiar sensation.

Credence hadn’t done anything like this since they were fourteen. Wizard children had magical outbursts all the time. It was something everyone grew out of eventually. Everyone except Credence, of course. He’d tried to study his way out of it. He’d tried to ignore his way out if it. But Credence’s magic always had a way of catching up with him. It seared through his skin and struck with the vengeance of bottled up rage. Tina felt it continue to surge through her bones even after the blow was over.

She was the only one of the three lucid enough to do anything in response. The poor maid ran bawling from the room as soon as she regained the ability to move. It quickly became clear that she had warned the rest of the hired help from entering the room. Tina was left alone in the room with a wounded animal she could barely recognize as her best friend.

So Tina did all the things she’d been taught to do. She drew a bath. She helped Credence in. She ignored the long, pale, scars that divided his back into thin slices. She bit her tongue when she noticed fresh bruises pressed into his flesh. She washed Credence’s hair. She watched his letter congeal in the soapy water until it dissolved altogether. She said all the empty, comforting words and whispered all the broken apologies. She forced him back on his feet, brushed him off, and begged him to flee.

So Credence did all the things he’d been taught to do. He fixed the necklace. He fastened it around his neck. He clutched it close to heart, no doubt wishing it was a gift from another man. He painted on a false face with heavy pigments to hide his affliction. He refused Tina’s pleas and persisted beyond all other good judgement. He put on ivory robes and a veil, carried a bundle of bright blue flowers.

He got married. 

 

Newt felt very cold. Everything was falling into place, and for the first time in his life, he was willing the world back to chaos. The twin images of Credence and Ariana were howling over the rush of his thought processes, their empty eyes boring wide holes in his guilty conscious. Trapped on the balcony, Newt felt like he was exiled to an entirely new planet. Yet he refused to let his isolation prevent him from thinking clearly. 

He listened as Tina explained Graves’ return from Europe, his letter begging Credence to reconsider his engagement. Newt tried to ignore the way her eyes were glittering with sorrow. Neither of them could fathom why Credence would make the opposite choice. She told him how Graves purchased the mansion across the bay to remain close without letting his presence apply pressure. Every party was another hopeful moment, the flash and spark meant to attract his lost love into reuniting. He spent years asking for Credence Barebone in each opportunity and never getting the slightest positive response, until he met Tina earlier that month. 

Newt held onto the rail of the balcony almost as tightly as Tina while she began dictating Graves’ request. “Credence would never trust me to meddle with his marriage after everything we’ve been through,” she said, still avoiding his gaze, “so I told him about you.” Newt’s head was spinning from the sheer force of her confession, each word building on the last to a crescendo that he wasn’t ready to hear. “Graves wants you to invite Credence over, so he can swing by and crash the party.” The silence that followed was all-consuming.

“What if…” Newt could barely stand to ask the question. “What if this isn’t what Credence wants?” He could still see Credence crying by the bay, but he couldn’t help the suspicions rising in his throat. “How…how do you know?”

“I don’t,” Tina admitted, her eyes determinedly locked onto his. It was that challenging gaze that forced itself into his mind to drill beyond his simple consideration. Though her words were anything but comforting, the conviction with which she said them was anything but. 

Newt wouldn’t tell Tina now, but he could see himself slowly falling into a web of unexpected, messy lives, while also falling for her.


	6. Chapter 6

Newt ended up trapped in New York City once again. He and Tina stayed hidden on their little balcony as long as they could, swapping more stories about childhood friends and magical schools. It was about halfway into their debate over the merits of Hogwarts versus Ilvermorny that Gellert finally snuffed them out.

‘What the hell are you two doing here?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth. The pair stiffened and each took a small choreographed step away from the other. Gellert eyed them both with mirror-like irises. Newt could almost see himself reflected in their paleness. He had the gnawing feeling that those eyes saw him as a weakness rather than a person. “Nevermind,” Gellert huffed. “They’re serving drinks and dinner downstairs, if you’re interested.” Tina took that as a cue to take Newt by the hand and drag him back into the throng of people who increasingly felt like carbon copies of the same aggressively masculine stock brokers. 

Newt took special care to make sure every glass of liquid he consumed was pure water. There was no point abusing himself with the after-effects of alcohol when there were absolutely no opportunities for him to have fun while doing so. He and Tina were roped into conversation after conversation with Gellert, a queue of human depravity that snaked through their entire evening and took out a chunk of the night itself. 

Tina helped him escape well after sunset, telling Gellert that she felt faint. “Newt, you can make sure she gets home alright?” he asked. Newt had nodded along, but his eyes were glued to the man Gellert was talking to: a blonde, muscular adonis with heavily lined eyes and cheap work clothes. Tina tugged on his sleeve to pull him away, but not before Newt got another glimpse of Gellert leaning towards the man with a lecherous grin on his face. His expression made him feel unclean. The images of Credence and Ariana flashed across his mind as Tina rushed out to the car.

Newt expected more conversation on the way home, but the ride was oddly silent. Far removed and curled against the opposite window, Tina’s features were suddenly hard. She had put as much distance between them as possible. Her moment of absolute vulnerability left her drained of all intense expression, blank-faced, and tired. He could see her actively slipping back into her cynical persona. As the car bounced over the rough bridge road, Newt watched her take harsh, measured breaths. He was painfully aware of observing the beginning and end of Tina Goldstein’s cycle of misery. 

At first, she appeared to accept Gellert’s treatment of Credence, to tolerate it while watching their marriage crumble in real time. Newt felt like it wouldn’t take long for her guilt and resentment to start to fester. He’d arrived sometime during that stage, just as her heart began to rot. Newt presumed that the party had been her braking point, and it was all the more crushing to watch her revert to a complacent bystander. So the cycle began again. 

The taxi mournfully pulled onto his lawn while Newt choked on the uncomfortable silence. Still, he couldn’t help but look to Tina for a cue. She gave none. 

“I’ll see you again soon?” he asked, hopefully. Tina nodded, though still refusing to quite meet his eyes. “Goodbye, then?” Newt was half way out of the car when she caught him by the wrist.

“Newt,” she said, her voice quiet. He could feel her struggle to find words. “Just…please.” It was the most inarticulate he’d ever seen her. Yet for the first time, Tina was making sense. Her unspoken words were truer than anything she’d been able to vocalize. Their mutual understanding lasted mere seconds before Tina smiled and looked away. “Goodnight, Newt.”

The night was balmy while Newt waved the taxi off his property. True summer heat was coming soon and in its wake was a comforting warmth ever present in the air. The taxi’s lights blurred with distance, before it finally disappeared over the next hill. Newt didn’t know why he felt so obligated to watch it go. Even after it was gone, he stayed rooted to the lawn for several prolonged deep breaths. 

A sudden crack behind him was the only reason Newt shifted his focus. He whirled around to face the bay, senses on high alert until his nervous eyes fell upon the source of the noise. Newt initially sighed with relief, yet his tendons were filled with an entirely new brand of tension. Percival Graves was back on the dock, just beginning to turn away from the glow on the opposite shore and walk back towards the garden. 

Just as Credence was centuries away from the effervescent boy from Tina’s story, Graves seemed so far removed from his previous incarnation. Internal conflict and age was written into the very lines of his face. The melancholy behind his skin was only emphasized by the bath of emerald light. 

Newt didn’t know what prompted Graves to look up, but they were suddenly locking eyes across the night. The longer he stared, the more layers and years Newt could begin to peel away. It was like drawing back a curtain to reveal the man from the Ministry photograph. Then Graves grinned in earnest and everything fell into place. The image of Tina’s descriptions were realized in the hopefulness of his expression. Something inside Newt’s chest was melting at the sight of it all. He couldn’t properly explain the sensation that filled his entire torso with gelatinous warmth. Newt was sinking in Graves’ former self, in danger of being devoured entirely. The choice he would make was abruptly clear.

Graves sauntered from the dock onto Newt’s property, his poise overwhelming the moment of clarity. “Enjoying the night, old sport?” he called. Graves stepped from the green light to the moonlight with an anxious pep in his step. 

“Nearly,” Newt shrugged. He wasn’t certain that he’d truly enjoyed anything in New York, but there was no way he would admit it. “You?” Graves didn’t seem to be really listening. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet with delirious energy.

“I haven’t been in the pool this summer,” he said, manic, desperate energy shining from his every pore. It struck Newt as strange that a man who had access to so many luxuries would not be utilizing them, but Graves rushed on before he could properly consider the idea. “Suppose we took a plunge?” 

“Now?” Newt asked, slightly appalled. The thought of ‘taking a plunge’ with Percival Graves made something in his stomach give a violent twist. He wasn’t overly familiar with the social constructs of New York, but he was sure that swimming in his neighbor’s pool past dark was a definite faux pas. Not to mention that the clock must have been nearing midnight, and any swimming should have been strictly off limits.

“I don’t see any reason not to,” Graves said. Newt immediately listed fifteen different qualms with the idea. However, the other man was already babbling on about the merits of swimming in the summer. Graves was unable to control his mouth, words flooding out at miles a minute. It was almost sycophantic, as if Graves felt the need to impress him out of the blue. Just as the thought crossed Newt’s mind, he finally understood.

“I’m inviting Credence over for tea,” Newt announced, cutting off Graves’ swimming rant. “He’ll come over the day after next, and you can join us if you like.” After all the stilted behavior he’d experienced in this new society, Newt felt totally satisfied by his own blunt words. Graves looked shell shocked. Truthfully, Newt didn’t know whether his mouth or eyes were open wider. 

“I-I-” he stuttered. The corner’s of Graves mouth were betraying his awkwardness, creeping up towards his cheeks. He was biting his bottom lip in a failed attempt to contain an enthused grin. A new light illuminated his irises from behind, as if someone had turned on a bulb inside his skull. Newt couldn’t help but smile back at him. Graves was stifling a relieved laugh. He could be described in a single word: alive. There was nothing false about the joy that was possessing his body. “T-thank you,” Graves managed.

“It’s the least I could do.”

“No. There is nothing minimal about this.” His eyes were full of stars. “I can’t thank you enough.” Newt could feel the color rising to his cheeks, neck, and ears. Praise from Graves was comparable to praise from the Minister, a compliment that he couldn’t possibly handle. 

“It’s really-” Newt tried his best to wave the thanks away, but Graves was persistent.

“Picquery’s been looking for an assistant,” he insisted, slipping back into his official personality. “I’m sure she would hire you with my recommendation…you would deserve it, of course.” Newt hesitated. The expediency of the offer, the way that Graves handed out an assistantship like caramels on a street corner. It was alarming how it slipped from his lips with such ease. There was no consideration of Newt’s ambition or opinion. Graves just assumed that he would be readily accepting any job offer that came his way. Newt couldn’t help but be slightly affronted. 

“I have my plate full with Credence,” Newt declined, “thank you.” 

“Of course. I understand.” Graves didn’t pick up on his discomfort. His gaze was already preoccupied by the overgrown blades of grass at his feet. “We’ll have to have the lawn manicured of course.”

“What?”

“The lawn,” Graves said, as if it were obvious. “If Credence is coming over, the grass must be cut.” Staring at the grass, Newt couldn’t see any real problem with it. He’d already told Credence that his house was an overgrown mess. There was no reason to tell a lie by dressing up the place. “And flowers. We’ll need to have flowers.” 

Newt could see him redesigning the entire lawn with his eyes, and that vision was the only reason he slowly nodded and said “alright.” Graves spent a few more seconds examining the property with imagination brewing in his face. It was only when Newt shifted his weight from one foot to another that Graves awoke from the fantasy.

Clumsily, he forced Newt into a vigorous handshake. “Thank you,” he repeated several times, almost drunkenly. All his inhibitions had been lowered with pure excitement and he furiously pumped Newt’s arm for just a hair too long. When he finally stepped away, however, Graves’ eyes were glossy and wistful. “I’ll let you get some rest.” Newt was left unsure of how to respond, how to feel. 

“Goodnight,” he finally managed.

Graves began walking back to his house, but not before shouting “I’ll send some people over tomorrow” over his shoulder. As per usual, Newt was left in a wake of mental and emotional confusion, watching a god exit his life for the time being. 

It was only when he was nearly asleep that Newt paused to question the significance of what Graves had said. People. Tomorrow. His first mistake was allowing Graves to get away with making a declaration like that. His second was drifting off without completely considering the implications.

Newt awoke the next morning to the sound of distressed creatures and bustling work outside his window. He rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead, yawning even as the cacophony circled around him. His skull felt like it was stuffed with cotton. All the surrounding noise seemed muted and soft. Dazed, Newt blinked a couple of more times, and sat up.

All it took was a single glance out the window to startle him into total consciousness. There was a face staring through the pane of glass, two huge ball-like blue eyes staring right at him. Newt cried out in surprise, springing to his feet automatically and fumbling with his wand. The thing outside his window leapt back, but didn’t leave entirely. 

“Who…are you?” Newt shouted, opening the window with the flick of the wand. Without the glass obstructing his view, it didn’t take much investigation to understand what he was looking at. A house elf, small and apprehensive, was standing in one of his petunia bushes. At his question, the creature bowed deeply. 

“Sorry to disturb you sir,” it said in a tiny voice. 

“Who are you?” Newt repeated again.

“Cadrey, sir,” the house elf explained, “sent over by Master Graves to wash the windows.” Newt’s neurons were still clogged with sleep, so he stared at the house elf blankly for several seconds until his mind caught up to the events before him.

“Graves…” he said dumbly. “Wash the windows…”

“Indeed, sir,” Cadrey nodded curtly. His funny little face was kind and honest. “Master Graves told Cadrey it was all very important for tomorrow. He says Cadrey must work hard to make sure everything is ready, sir.” Piecing it all together, Newt groaned. 

“He said he just wanted to manicure the lawn.”

“Oh, well,” the elf said with excited enthusiasm brimming in his face, “Master Graves assured Cadrey and the others that your home needs plenty more than just the lawn, sir.” Newt had to push past the slight insult to him home to lock onto a different phrase.

“Others?”

“Of course. So much to do here, sir. Cadrey couldn’t ever do it alone.” The house elf smiled happily, though his words were far from comforting to Newt. “The others are all here to make sure the house is in the best condition for Master Graves’ party.” He knew it was rude, but Newt turned away from Cadrey without a word, sprinting over to his living room to get a good view out of the front windows.

Cadrey wasn’t lying. All across Newt’s previously overgrown lawn, were house elves, each dedicated to their own particular task. A group of four were using their magic to trim the disobedient grass and weeds. Three more were utilizing scouring spells to rub the grime from the porch. A pair of enormous white rose bushes were flying towards the home itself, burying themselves in the supple, summer earth. The porch outside was being scoured top to bottom with a series of spells that slid along the grain of the floorboard. Newt felt frozen to the spot as the busy work continued around him.

“Good morning, old sport!” The cheery voice managed to slide through the rest of the hurried noise. Surprised, Newt’s arm gave a sudden twitch, sending his elbow thumping against the window. Graves seemed unperturbed. He just stood at the edge of the grass and waved. Newt was still breathing heavily, but managed to wave back with a trembling hand. Ever persistent, Graves gestured for Newt to come out and join him.

“What do you need?” Newt asked, jogging down the front path. He was actively fighting to keep his voice level, even as stress and sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Under any other circumstances, Newt would have been terrified by the way his manners eroded with each step. Still, with the walls closing in on him, it was a miracle that he had any composure left at all.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” Graves said. His warm eyes were fixed on the various magical repairs with adoration. 

“Uh, yes,” Newt sighed. The sight of his home was still making his skin crawl. Newt happened to enjoy the chaos and mess of the cottage; that had been why he’d rented the home in the first place. Watching everything be trimmed, scrubbed, and organized was like hearing nails on a chalkboard. Unconsciously, Newt dug his fingernails into his palms until sharp jolts of pain brought him back to attention.

“Has Credence accepted your invitation?” asked Graves. That handsome, innocent enthusiasm had returned to his features.

“I haven’t called yet,” Newt confessed, his chest aching. Despite the invasion of privacy and carelessness on Graves’ part, he didn’t want to disappoint him. To his surprise, Graves didn’t react strongly, his dark eyes distracted by the marvels of the restoration.

“Just make sure he’s coming,” Graves instructed, voice far away. “We’ll need to decorate the interior as well. You wouldn’t mind staying out of the way tomorrow morning, would you?” 

“I…?” Newt stuttered. 

“Wonderful!” Grave steamrolled any objection that Newt possibly could have posed and clapped his hard on the shoulder. Dangerously, Newt felt his heart give a pathetic, nervous flutter. Graves was practically glowing, his smile brighter than ever. Newt was blinded, and all he could do was uncomfortably mutter thanks and promises.

He ended up dealing with the situation by hiding out in the cottage’s basement. He’d moved the suitcase down there, and was more than happy to escape into a world of monsters, compared to the hustle and bustle upstairs. Credence had been ecstatic to get the invitation, and had only paused a moment when Newt had instructed him to come without Gellert.   
“Four o’clock tomorrow is perfect,” Credence had sung on the other end of the line. “I’m excited to see that little house of yours.”

The home wasn’t looking so little anymore. When Newt checked on the restoration that night, all the weeds and clutter were eliminated, leaving an expansive, expensive lawn and sparkling home. Even though he wasn’t pleased, Newt would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed.

The fanfare only continued the next morning, when Graves and a trail of house elves had swept into the home with flowers and sweets beyond Newt’s wildest imagination. He’d stayed out of the way, of course, but each little peek he took revealed new wonders and trinkets that he never associated with his humble home. Graves had lent him a shirt and pants to replace his worn tweed. More and more, Newt felt like a figure in a dollhouse, dressed up and designed to please its owner rather than be an independent being.

Around two o’clock on the day of the meeting, the heavens opened, a waterfall of rain pouring from the clouds. Graves had cursed several times when lightning struck in the distance, but had insisted that they continue with preparations. Graves himself was looking more and more like an angel. His white suit was well pressed, as were his green shirt and gold tie. His tan skin shone with sunlight, as did his inquisitive eyes. Graves had spent half an hour at least combing his dark hair into the perfect wave, turning to Newt for final approval. Never in his life had Newt seen a creature quite as magnificent as him.

They finished decorations at a quarter to four, panting as they parked themselves in the parlor. Looking around the room Newt felt like he was living inside the world’s gaudiest wedding cake. The enormous bushes of fragrant white flowers and lacy ivory decorations made the environment feel like decadent frosting, sugary and sweet enough to rot his teeth by just glancing around. A particularly thick bouquet of lavender that was suspended over Graves head wafted the gorgeous scent of freshly cut flowers. The heavenly sights and smells were making Newt feel lightheaded and dreamlike.

Graves seemed to be having the opposite experience. While Newt’s mind soared among the floating flower pots, his friend looked uncomfortably rooted to the ground. He was visibly sweating. His dark hair started to stick to his forehead, his eyes wide, darting around the decorations with needle-like precision. Every so often he would straighten in his chair as if posed for a portrait, only to quickly slouch back in the soft cushions. Graves would weave his fingers into one another. His body language was knotted and nervous. On the other side of the room, the clock ticked loudly from its place on the fireplace mantlepiece.

“I don’t think he’s coming,” Graves announced out of nowhere. Newt looked over at the clock, careful to note the hands’ position on the beautifully engraved face.   
“It’s five minutes to four,” he assured. “There’s still time.” Despite Newt’s explanation, Graves got to his feet.

“I think I should leave.” He started, shakily, towards the door.

“Wait!” Newt called. It took him a couple of paces to catch up with Graves, but he was able to nonetheless. “Please, stay.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” Graves shook his head, but even in his moment of distress, Newt’s eyes were drawn to the road outside the window. There on the gravel drive, a blue car pulled onto the lawn. “I just-” Graves continued. 

“He’s here,” interrupted Newt, pushing him aside. “See? There was nothing to worry about.”

“Well…” Graves struggled, but Newt had already made it to the door. He wouldn’t let the man back out, not after all the dedication and preparation that went into planning the meeting. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, gesturing towards the parlor. “Wait on the couch. I’ll bring him inside.” With a dazed look on his face, Graves appeared to do so, leaving Newt to retrieve the young man from the car. All around them, the storm raged on. 

Credence exited the car with his usual flourish, daintily holding a white umbrella and gliding down the walkway. Newt couldn’t help but be surprised at his appearance. Unlike his attire in their previous meetings, Credence clothing was oddly masculine and restrained. He was wearing proper trousers for the first time since Newt’s arrival, the white fabric extenuating the length of his legs. His shirt was periwinkle blue and collared, a pink vest was buttoned tightly against his chest. Newt offered to carry the umbrella for him, to which Credence obliged. Looking into his face, he came to the pleasant conclusion that Credence’s face was clean. His winged eyes, stained lips, and powdered skin from their previous encounter was gone, leaving his face as genuine as the day Newt had first met him. Credence’s hair was pulled off his face and into a high bun, further exposing his truthful appearance. The sound of the rain managed to further relax Newt’s taught nerves, and he let out a breath for the first time in what felt like years.

“Are you in love with me?” Credence’s question snapped his muscles back to their previous, painful tension. Newt whirled around, nearly dropping the umbrella in the process.

“I-I…well…I-” Panicked, Newt nearly didn’t notice the amiable smile on Credence’s face. 

“I kid,” Credence assured with a light chuckle. “It’s just, the last time a man invited me alone to such a flowery place, he proposed.” He spoke with an optimistic sorrow that cracked Newt’s ribs. “Why wasn’t Gellert invited today?”

Working his mouth wordlessly for a few moments, Newt finally managed to spit out some kind of a response. “I’ve had plenty of time with him, but not with you,” he mumbled. “I thought you’d be pleased to spend a little time on our own.” 

Credence nudged Newt with his shoulder. “Of course I’m pleased!” he said. “I was just curious.” With that, the pair ascended the front steps. Newt could feel his pulse quickening with each step, the sound of blood rushing in his ears drowning out Credence’s words as he praised the decorations. The thought of the tea and sweets inside was only making his roiling stomach worse. He had to reach across Credence to open the door, taking the umbrella in his trembling fingers. 

Newt fumbled with the door for as long as he could, petrified to continue their way into the parlor. Credence noticed his trepidation, and took the moment to adjust a stray curl in the entrance hall’s mirror. Newt couldn’t help but watch him. He didn’t know it, but Credence was mere feet away, mere moments away, from the supposed love of his life. He was totally oblivious towards the epiphany that was waiting just around the corner. There was something purely naive in Credence’s distracted gaze. He was a victim, unaware of the ticking bomb strapped beneath the table. 

“You’re staring,” Credence whispered. Color had risen to his cheeks and his shoulders closed off within seconds. Newt fought through his urge to freeze with a shaky smile.

“I’m just excited…to see your reaction to the house,” he said. It was alarming how the lies were becoming easier to tell. In spite of the awkwardness, Credence grinned. 

“Let me guess,” he teased. “Are there more flowers?” Before Newt could give a definitive reply, Credence turned away, walking to the parlor entrance, unknowingly clinging to the last shred of his previous life as he did so. 

This time, Newt couldn’t stop his body from halting. His eyes were locked onto every minimal movement that Credence made in slow motion. Newt saw the smile slide off Credence’s face, replaced with a shocked expression. His fingers flew to his mouth, eyes wide, and body still. “Oh!” Credence exclaimed, before disappearing into the parlor. “How…?” His soft voice echoed around the room. “Where did you…?”

Newt had to physically force himself one leg at a time, following Credence to where Graves must have been sitting. The surprise in Credence’s tone was real, enticing Newt to watch the rest of the dramatic reunion unfold before him. 

But when he stepped out into the parlor, Newt was met with a very different sight.

“Did you rob a greenhouse?” Credence joked. The fluffy, powder-blue armchair where Credence sat was surrounded by three huge flower pots overflowing with tendrils of white flowers. The look in his wide eyes was one of total sensory overload. Yet, there was an important element missing from the scene. When Newt turned to the coach, he found it empty. Percival Graves was nowhere to be found.

Just as the realization slapped him across the face, Newt heard the doorbell give a rebellious ring. Both he and Credence whirled towards the source of the sound.

“I thought you said it was just going to be the two of us,” Credence said, but Newt was already out of the room and rushing towards the door. Thunder rolled in the distance. He wasn’t quite sure that he liked the rain so much anymore. The same pitter patter that had soothed his anxiety earlier, now drummed on his nerves with petty insistence. Newt’s heart was pounding in his throat by the time he was able to finally throw open the front door. It was his turn to gasp. 

Graves was drenched head to toe: his suit leaking, face dripping, dark hair plastered to his forehead. Every inch of bright skin was glistening with rain, forming a large puddle at his feet. Both his physical state and the breathless, petrified expression on his face gave him the appearance of a freshly drowned man. 

“What are you-” Newt asked, but before he could finish, Graves brushed past him and stomped inside. Newt’s heart was back to its anxious hammering, its beat synchronizing with Graves’ rushed, watery footsteps. He watched as Graves, much like Credence, stopped to adjust his disheveled clothing and hair. Graves looked intoxicated as he did his best straighten his wet suit and push his sopping hair out of his face. Even his best attempt did little to fix the disaster the storm had caused. After only the slightest stop, Graves continued into the parlor, leaving Newt with no choice but to follow. 

“Newt,” Credence called from where he stood by the window with his back to the room’s entrance. “Newt, who was it?” Standing at Graves’ side, Newt’s entire body solidified as Credence turned to face them. 

Time seemed to stand still. Credence took in a sharp breath, his eyes widening with years of lost memories and vanished futures. His mouth fell slightly open, the color draining from his already pale face. Newt wished he would react strongly, say something, do something, anything that would indicate anything but regret. Yet, Credence just stood still as a statue, roiling pain swirling behind his dark irises. 

But while Credence seemed trapped in a time long forgotten, Graves looked like he’d traveled back into the past. He looked lost in Credence’s gaze, and Newt couldn’t tell whether the moisture on his face was from the sky or his eyes. The tender hope in his expression was the unmistakable vulnerability only present in the faces of innocents. Though his body was closed off and stiff, his face was open and optimistic. Graves tried to speak, but no words escaped. Rather, he watched Credence almost as expectedly as Newt did. 

Credence hadn’t moved, but he did change. He’d arrived back into Graves’ past, their future, with an almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. He took a tentative step away from the window. 

“I’m certainly glad to see you again.” Credence breathed, his voice barely audible. If anything, his declaration made Graves more apprehensive. There was fear and delight in his voice when he finally able to speak.

“I’m certainly glad to see you as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support! It really makes my day. I hope you enjoyed today's chapter as well.  
> I do have some bad news however. My laptop has been suffering from some issues recently, and last week it crashed completely. I am currently using my phone to post this, but will not be able to continue doing so. While I wait for my laptop to get repairs (which I have been told will take 2-3 weeks), I will most likely be unable to post any more new content. After all my tech bugs are dealt with, I will be back to a normal posting schedule.  
> Thank you so much for reading!! Stay tuned for new chapters! I'm sorry for any inconvenience.  
> <3<3<3


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